


Winter

by st_mick



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fresh Start, Hurt/Comfort, Ianto Jones - Agent of SHIELD, M/M, New Friends, Past rape/torture, Rape, Tinkering with timelines, Torture, not explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:42:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 64
Words: 186,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23886163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_mick/pseuds/st_mick
Summary: Ianto Jones is starting over.  Again.  This time with SHIELD.  His new job is going to be amazing, but there's some tidying to do, first.Ianto never could abide a mess.Even as new friendships are forged, old flames fade, and perhaps a brighter future is on the horizon.  Coming from Torchwood, Ianto is surprised at the prospect of even having a future.  Should be a laugh, living to thirty.  Right?
Relationships: Ianto Jones/Jack Harkness (past), Ianto Jones/James "Bucky" Barnes
Comments: 579
Kudos: 275





	1. Chapter 1

“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me,” Ianto muttered, feeling as though he had been punched in the chest.

“What’s wrong, pet?” Gwen looked around at Ianto, who had just walked past her with the items he had gone out to purchase. The hub was still a bit of a shambles, after the earth moving, but they were slowly piecing it back together.

“Hey, Tiger,” a warm voice whispered in Ianto’s ear as strong arms wrapped around his waist. “How about a little break?”

Ianto pulled out of Jack’s arms and turned. Jack’s hair was wet. “Another shower?” he asked. He and Jack had shared a shower, just before Ianto left, following a quick but gratifyingly messy encounter. Jack had been particularly frisky since returning from his adventure with the Doctor.

Jack grinned. “Yeah. I got a little dirty and had to clean up, again.”

Ianto stared. Jack must be slipping, because his eyes looked a bit shifty. “I see,” he turned and walked to his desk, setting down the bags. Pulling out a key, he unlocked one of the desk drawers, seeing it register on Jack’s face that Ianto had something under lock and key in the hub. Jack likely thought Ianto had no more secrets from him.

 _Prat_.

“Ianto?” Jack frowned.

“Pity you didn’t persuade Gwen to shower, as well,” Ianto said offhandedly. “She stinks of your pheromones.” He pulled out one file from many, all with boring form numbers written on them. This one was “Form 10-45D”. Just one of many. No one would have known to look for it, in with so many other similarly marked files. It was police radio code.

 _Patient is deceased_.

Seemed fitting. Not like Ianto didn’t know it was likely. Why else would he have an exit strategy?

“Ianto…” Jack looked cagey, like he was trying to figure out how to get out of this one.

“Don’t bother, Jack,” Ianto said, opening the folder and grabbing a pen. He signed his name and dated the letter on top. He straightened and looked at the older man. “Tell me this, though. How long? Or has it been all along?”

“Oh, grow up, Ianto,” Gwen sneered. “He came back for us. Isn’t that enough?”

Ianto looked from her to Jack. “So the whole time, then. Despite your promises and reassurances.”

Jack shrugged. “I wanted you both.”

“So rather than allow me to make an informed decision, you lied to me,” Ianto stated calmly. He was not one for histrionics, no matter how mangled his heart might feel, at the moment.

Jack shrugged again, unrepentant. “I was pretty sure that was the only way I could have you.”

Ianto pulled out his phone and found a name in his contact list. When the person at the other end of the line picked up, he said, “Phil.”

“Ianto, good to hear from you!” Phil Coulson replied with his usual good humor. “What can I do for you?”

“That offer still good?”

Now there was a smile in the voice as it answered, “You know it is. You need an exit?”

“I believe so,” Ianto answered, eyeing Jack, who looked thoroughly confused that what had been a potential blowout had been interrupted so Ianto could make a phone call.

And who the hell was Phil?

“Widow and Hawkeye left London a quarter hour ago. I’ll have them turn back and pick you up. Help you pack. Roald Dahl Plass, correct?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Ianto was relieved, and his voice showed it. This would be the trickiest bit, walking out without Jack deciding to put a bullet in his brain.

“Harkness right there?”

“Yes, sir.” Ianto ignored Jack’s raised eyebrow at the repeated use of the honorific.

“Put me on speaker,” Phil said.

Ianto punched the button and said, “You’re on speaker now, sir.”

“Captain Harkness. This is Phil Coulson, with SHIELD. We’ve met a few times.”

“Agent Coulson,” Jack frowned at Ianto, but kept his voice cheerful. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Not a pleasure for long, I’m afraid,” Coulson chuckled. “I’m poaching one of your people.”

“Don’t see how,” Jack crossed his arms over his chest and gave Ianto an angry look as the younger man glared defiantly back. “Torchwood’s a little tough to quit.”

“So I’ve heard. But Mr. Jones has some paperwork for you.”

Ianto handed Jack the folder. Jack snatched it up and opened it, reading first Ianto’s letter of resignation and behind that… His eyes grew wide. “How did you…”

“She rather likes me,” Ianto replied, sounding a bit surprised. “It was merely a matter of explaining to her that someday I might be able to make a bit more of a difference in another setting, but I can’t do that without my memories.” He shifted. “Or my life.”

“Captain Harkness, am I to understand that you have just received and read a memorandum from Her Majesty, instructing you to release Ianto Jones to SHIELD, without resorting to any of the protocols normally in place for an operative’s separation from Torchwood?” Coulson waited a beat for a reply, then pressed on, “Captain Harkness?”

“Yes, I have the damned memo,” Jack said, his face a mask of barely contained rage.

“Excellent. Now, just to be clear. If Mr. Jones suffers any form of forgetfulness or accident, not only will you face the Queen’s annoyance, but the wrath of Director Fury. Am I understood?”

“I hear you,” Jack grumbled.

“Ianto, I’ve taken the liberty of executing the program you sent me, for this circumstance. Your mail has been forwarded, your utilities transferred to Torchwood, and your bank accounts liquidated, with the funds transferred to the accounts you set up here, in New York. The Plass has been cleared due to a chemical spill, and a Quinjet is coming in cloaked. ETA one minute.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ianto looked around. There was nothing here that he couldn’t live without. Except... He sighed. “Don’t suppose I can bring me pterodactyl?”

Phil chuckled. “We’ll take her. What do you need?”

Ianto relayed dimensions of a carrying box and instructions for the purchase of meat.

“You can’t take her,” Jack protested.

“Like you know the first thing about caring for any creature that isn’t you,” Ianto spat. He grabbed a small remote from his desk, along with the large bag of dark chocolate from one of the drawers. He strode towards the invisible lift and activated one of the buttons on the remote.

“Leave your weapon,” Jack snarled.

“I’ll leave it and the phone on the paving stone, up top,” Ianto replied. No way he was giving up his weapon while still in the Hub.

“They’ve arrived,” Phil said over the speaker. “Anything else?”

“I’ll need a full medical, once I arrive,” Ianto said as the lift began to rise. “Turns out I’ve been exposed to not one whore, but two.”

Jack snarled and headed for the door as Gwen squawked out a protest, following close behind.

“Understood,” Phil said, wincing. “I’ll stay with you until Widow has you.”

“Tell her to watch for me by the water tower,” Ianto replied.

“Will do.”

“Jack’s headed that way.”

“Angry?”

“Livid.”

“Excellent,” Coulson crowed.

“For you, maybe,” Ianto sighed. “My whole life just disintegrated. Again.”

“I’m sorry, Ianto. But you knew Torchwood was temporary. Otherwise you wouldn’t have made these arrangements.”

“I guess part of me hoped…” Ianto shook his head. “More fool me, really.”

“Well, you’ve got a home here, now.”

“Thanks, Phil. I don’t relish the thought of having to disappear, all on my own.”

“I have every confidence you could, if necessary.”

“With Toshiko gone? Yes. But it would still be a right pain in my arse.”

“Noted.”

The paving stone slid into place and Ianto raised an arm to wave at Agent Romanoff. His movement helped her to beat the perception filter. She strode toward him, glancing around.

“Neat trick.”

“Alien tech,” Ianto replied, then stuck out his hand. “Ianto Jones, at your service.”

She looked at his hand, then shrugged and took it. “Natasha Romanoff. Coulson must have a helluva hard-on for you,” she raised an eyebrow as Ianto blinked in surprise. “We’re not normally called out for moving and babysitting service.”

“Enough, Widow,” Coulson growled from the phone still in Ianto’s hand. “Keep your head on a swivel. I don’t trust Harkness.”

“Phil, you wound me,” Jack said, striding up to them. “Ianto, we should talk. Protocol calls for a debriefing, at the very least.”

“You have a letter stating that all protocols may be disregarded,” Coulson said. “Widow, get out of there.”

“See you soon, Phil.” Ianto ended the call and then extracted the stun gun and its holster from his belt. He handed both to Gwen, knowing full well Jack could easily turn the weapon on him.

“You can’t just _leave_ ,” Gwen protested. “It’s only us, left.”

“And whose fault is that?” Ianto asked, causing Jack to flinch. “It’s been _months_ since we lost Owen and Tosh, and still he can’t be arsed to staff up. Hell, there weren’t enough of us, when they _were_ alive!”

Jack blanched.

“It’s not Jack’s fault they died,” Gwen defended.

“No, it’s not,” Ianto said wearily, tired of reassuring Jack. “But I can’t help but wonder how the team would have fared, if it had been a bit bigger.”

“Ianto!” Gwen shrieked.

“There’s no point in speculating,” Ianto shrugged, unwilling to reignite the argument he’d been having with Jack off and on since he began working for Torchwood Three. “What’s done is done. The attacks weren’t Jack’s fault, but as the leader of Torchwood Three, it’s up to him to staff the place up.” He turned to Jack and nodded to him. “Good luck, Sir.”

With that, he turned his back on Jack Harkness and began walking towards the Quinjet. The cloaking device was really no different from a perception filter, and having been trained to see past those, he could easily make out the aircraft, as well as the man in the doorway training and arrow on Jack.

“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that,” Natasha stated, falling in step beside him. “How did you know you could turn your back on him?”

Ianto shrugged. “Phil said Hawkeye was with you. I figured he was covering us.”

“Hmm.” She eyed him closely. “That exit wouldn’t have been quite as impressive, if you’d headed in the wrong direction. How do you know where we’re going?”

“Educated guess,” Ianto said, not willing to admit he could see it perfectly well.

“Hmm,” she was still giving him a hard side-eye. “Well, just keep walking. It’s straight ahead of you,” she said. “The air will look a bit wibbly around it as we get closer, and once we’re past the cloak you’ll be able to see it.”

Once they were in the Quinjet and the door was closed, Hawkeye lowered his bow and reached out a hand. “Clint Barton.”

“Ianto Jones.”

“You must be a unicorn, or something,” Clint said, looking at Ianto with wide eyes. “I’ve never seen Phil so excited to bag a new hire.”

“Just an archivist, me,” Ianto sat tiredly and rubbed his face as Barton and Romanoff exchanged a look. “You need the coordinates of my flat?”

“Nah, already programmed in,” Clint said as Natasha powered up the Quinjet. He sat across from Ianto, eyeing him closely.

“So here’s the plan,” Natasha said from the cockpit. “Clint will go out and score some boxes and then a cage for your pet, and I’ll help you pack. Maybe while we wait for him you can start organizing everything.”

They landed in the small park next to Ianto’s block of flats and split up to begin their work. Ianto headed to the kitchen first, pulling out the few items that he planned to keep. He had one decent frying pan, an excellent set of knives, and some serviceable flatware. He looked over the crockery that Lisa had picked out and decided it was time to let it go. He chose two coffee mugs – one with an off-color saying in Welsh and another with a Welsh dragon. Probably couldn’t find that in New York.

“I’ll be based in New York, right?” he asked, frowning.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I've said elsewhere that in the entirety of my multiverse, Jack and Ianto will always end up together, except for three times. First is "Unrequited", and even I couldn't live with that. The second is the germ of an idea that I will someday write (and if you've read my other stuff, you can probably make an educated guess). And "Winter" is the third.
> 
> All I can promise is that Ianto will get a happy ending, here. With whom, you may wonder? Well, perhaps he has a type - think tall, blue-eyed brunettes, and then consider the title. :)
> 
> Did I give it away too soon? Maybe I should go ahead and add the tag, after all. Haha
> 
> Oops. But in fairness, it'll take a while, to get there.
> 
> Hope you enjoy - kudo and comment, if you do! (Hey, I've already admitted to being shameless…)


	2. Chapter 2

“I’ll be based in New York, right?” he asked, frowning.

Another arched eyebrow met him when he turned to face Natasha, but she nodded.

Ianto shrugged. “Couldn’t stick around, but Torchwood’s not a place you can quit, really. Phil offered an exit a long while back, and…” He shrugged again and turned back to the bench. None of the electrics would be the same, so his appliances would have to stay. He had a moment of silence for his coffee maker before going through the cabinets.

It would be easiest to buy new crockery and glassware, rather than having to pack what was there. Other than the mugs, there was only the beautiful stoneware serving bowl that had been his mother’s. He grabbed it from the kitchen table and dumped the fruit that was in it into the sink and sat it with the mugs. He pulled out several bottles of good whisky and put them on the counter with the rest. Same for the good beans he had bought and meticulously blended.

He left the kitchen and looked around the living room. He pulled a few books off of the shelves, and a few DVD’s. Those he put next to the TV and let Natasha know not to pack them. There was a picture that had been inserted in amongst the books, and he pulled that out, now.

Natasha could see that it was him, a few years younger, with a dark-skinned woman, both smiling happily. He stacked it with another photo of him with a narrow-faced, grumpy looking man and a lovely Asian woman. He put them on the coffee table and said he’d find some vests to wrap them in, so they wouldn’t be harmed.

He took another look around the room, eyeing the ladder-style bookshelves. There were six of them, one holding CD’s and DVD’s, and the other five holding an impressive number of books, since he only pulled out about a half dozen. “The shelves are lightweight. Can I take them?”

“Of course, but there’s only so much furniture we can take.”

“Just that, and the wing chairs,” he nodded towards them. “And that little table, between them.”

Her eyebrows raised again. “That’s all?”

He nodded, then headed for the spare room. He flipped through the small file cabinet, pulling out confidential information and feeding it to the shredder. He looked around the room – really all it held was a futon and a crappy old desk, the file cabinet, and a wardrobe. He looked inside the wardrobe and pulled out several sets of sheets and towels and a small, fireproof box, which he handed to Natasha.

“Passport and some bits and bobs,” he muttered as he walked past her to the bathroom.

He pulled out the items he wished to pack – pretty much everything, but there really wasn’t all that much. A hair product. A shaving cream and package of unused razors. The one on the sink went in the bin, as did the toothbrush. Spares were hauled out to be packed. One aftershave went into the bin, and another that had been in the back of the cabinet went in the pile to be packed.

Natasha was forming a picture. “Sleeping with the boss?” she asked lightly.

Ianto shrugged. “Torchwood has the tendency to swallow your life, whole. No chance of a life outside of it, no chance of living more than a couple of years. So yeah. You grab onto what you can, while you can.” He huffed. “Messy and impractical, but needs must, you know?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, understanding. She was curious what was so dangerous about the job, but she could see the burden of it in every line of the younger man’s demeanor. “But hey – you’re out of it now, yeah?”

Ianto gave her a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, I suppose I am.” He sighed. “Guess it hasn’t sunk in, yet.”

Under the sink were a few more things, including a very large pill bottle with no label.

“Whoah,” she said as he put it next to the rest.

“Just a pain reliever,” he said, squeezing past her.

“Lot of it,” she said, looking at the bottle with a frown.

“Got it in bulk. Doesn’t expire.” In truth, it was Owen’s alien painkiller / hangover cure. Ianto had pilfered it from the Hub before Gwen could get her grubby little mitts on it.

He no longer felt guilty for this.

From under the bed he pulled a very large suitcase. Nested inside it were two more – one the normal size of a checked bag, and one that would be classified as a carry-on. He opened the largest one, then opened the wardrobe.

Natasha was surprised to see about ten suits hanging there. Ten _very nice_ suits. She watched as he pulled out each one and inspected it carefully. He pulled a jacket off the hanger and tossed it in the corner, along with the trousers.

“Alien goo,” he muttered, and she snorted a laugh. Relieved she didn’t believe him, he continued, “Doesn’t show, but it’s ruined the feel of the fabric. Waistcoat’s okay, though.” He left that item on the hanger and put it next to the suitcase on the bed.

As Natasha watched, he went through his suits, one by one and mercilessly threw out the ones that were no longer pristine. Which were about half. He tried not to think about how many thousands of pounds were now lying on the floor, but he consoled himself with the savings he had socked away to buy new suits, only to be too busy at work to actually do so.

He ended up meticulously placing each of the five suits and two waistcoats that he had decided to keep into the large suitcase, which apparently was literally a suit-case. There was a small rod in the middle of what would be considered the side where the coat hangers could be hung. He moved the items on the night table and placed the suitcase there, ensuring the suits were hanging in such a way as to avoid wrinkles.

A flap closed over them, and the more shallow side was available for shirts and trousers. Ianto went through the same process of weeding shirts. There were about twenty, but again, only half were deemed undamaged enough to keep.

“Job’s hard on the clothes?” Natasha asked ironically.

Ianto shrugged.

“What exactly was the job?” she asked. “I’ve heard of Torchwood, but thought it was destroyed.” The way she said that made him think that she doubted Torchwood Three’s existence. He smirked at the thought of a comrade in the ‘I know everything’ club.

“That was Torchwood One, in London. It fell in the Battle of Canary Wharf.” He knew from Phil that this was common knowledge, within SHIELD.

“Were you there?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Yes,” he answered quietly.

“And what does this Torchwood do, in Cardiff, of all places?”

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that,” he said, looking uncomfortable until she accepted the statement with a shrug.

He packed the shirts he was keeping, and then weeded through his ties. Once the tie hanger was packed and the suitcase was closed, a small pocket on the front took his belts. The only things still in the wardrobe were his shoes and some casual shirts and trousers. All but a handful of clothes were folded neatly into the regular suitcase, along with jeans and jumpers from the bureau.

The carry-on took his vests, pants, and socks, and a couple of t-shirts and pairs of track pants. That almost emptied the bureau, but she assumed that what was left was not his. A modest jewellery box that held his three sets of cuff links and two watches fit into the carry-on, as did the books, journals, and pictures from one of the night tables. (She noticed that the other bedside table and its contents were left untouched, and marveled at his composure, knowing he must be hurting.) When Natasha left to answer Clint’s knock, he found a bag to put the more personal items from the night table in, put the bag in the carry-on, and zipped it up.

The only thing left to pack were his shoes and the bedding. Natasha brought in boxes and stowed the bedding as he packed each pair of shoes in its shoe bag and placed them carefully in one of the boxes. Three pairs of dress shoes, two pairs of trainers, a pair of hiking boots, a pair of casual loafers, and a pair of beat-up looking combat-style boots in black leather. They all fit into the box she gave him.

Clint took down the suitcases and the boxes from the bedroom. Natasha packed the rest of the linens as Ianto packed the bathroom. They met in the living room as Clint continued to carry items to the Quinjet. He managed to load all of the boxes they’d packed so far, as well as the two wing chairs and table. Then he set to helping them pack the books.

“I managed to find a cage for your pet based on the dimensions you gave Phil. What the hell do you have, a mastiff?” He looked around. “And where do you keep it?”

Ianto shrugged. “You’ll see. I set the signal. She’ll hear it and come.”

He spent some moments showing them how to best pack the books, and he had just started packing the kitchen items when he heard a knock at the open door. He looked up, only partly surprised to see Jack.

The older man ignored the two SHIELD agents packing up Ianto’s books, music, and movies and shuffled closer to where Ianto was labelling the box from the kitchen. “So you’re really leaving?”

“You know I don’t bluff, sir.”

“You bluff just fine, actually.”

“Not about this.” Ianto huffed as he packed the whisky, placing various dry goods between the bottles, to cushion them. “Give it up, Jack. You’re the one who always told me that it’s time to walk away from a con when the mark gets wise.”

“You think this was all a con?”

“I know it was,” he said, looking sad before quietly adding, “now.”

“You’re wrong.”

Ianto closed the box and turned to Jack. “Let’s see. You’ve been lying to me since you returned with the Doctor eight months ago. Making me believe all sorts of codswallop. So yeah. I’ve definitely been conned.”

“Why are you so stubborn about this?” Jack looked exasperated.

“And why couldn’t you have respected my wishes? Had you told me the truth, I’m not certain I would have said no. After all, that was the arrangement before you went away.”

“But I knew Gwen was the deal-breaker.”

“Exactly,” Ianto rounded on him. “Did you two laugh about my gullibility? You promised me you’d give monogamy a try. But rather than _actually_ giving it a try, you lied. Then you went and fucked _her_ , and God knows who else, behind my back.” He took a breath and straightened. “You must think me a right fool.”

“I don’t, Ianto. I really don’t.”

Ianto gave a derisive snort and pulled out the closest thing he had to a big gun. “So rather than allow me a choice, you forced me into something that I had no say in.”

“Forced?” Jack blanched.

Ianto’s chin lifted in triumph. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had. “Yes. Rather than tell me my options and let me choose, you forced me into a situation I never wanted to be in.”

“What is your problem with Gwen?”

“Other than your attempts to gaslight me, every time I suspected you were fucking her, too? Gods, I’m such an idiot, because I actually _knew_! And nice try, on changing the subject. Doesn’t change facts, Jack. You misled me, deliberately lied to me about the nature of what you were promising, and then continued to lie, every time I suspected things weren’t as promised.”

“You people and your notions of monogamy,” Jack muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“And _that_ is the entirety of the problem, in a nutshell,” Ianto rejoined.

“What?”

“You think this is about monogamy, when really it’s about respect. It shouldn’t matter that my notions are quaint and outdated to your futuristic mores. What should matter is that I told you where I stood, and you deliberately disregarded my wishes. You blatantly disrespected me and my feelings.”

“Oh, your precious little _feelings_ ,” Jack sneered.

Ianto raised his chin. He was well aware of the two SHIELD agents witnessing his humiliation. But he was going to finish this, finish packing, and get the hell out. “As you may recall,” he said, his voice holding a quiet dignity that unbeknownst to him was earning him the respect of his soon-to-be co-workers, “we were quite open, before you went away. We weren’t exclusive, and I was fine with it.”

“So it’s Gwen you object to?”

Ianto shrugged. “When you got back, you promised exclusivity. Had you wanted the arrangement to remain open, I might have agreed to it. But yes, I object to Gwen. She’s the worst kind of mean girl. She rubs everyone’s faces in her perfect relationship with Rhys, and then goes off and cheats on him, fucking anything with a pulse. Owen, Andy, that guy at the chippy, _you_ …”

“What guy at the chippy?” Jack frowned. “And wait. Andy?”

Ianto rolled his eyes. “Reason I want a medical. You’re both thoughtless, selfish arseholes. Same as me, if Rhys knew he was in an open relationship, that’d be a different thing. But he doesn’t. And _that’s_ the problem.”

Jack frowned. “You’re just being stubborn.”

“No, Jack,” Ianto finished packing the box and put it by the door. “And I’m done with this. If, in all your 51st century _perfection_ , you don’t understand that it is disrespectful to lie and mislead someone, just to get what you want, then I am clearly not the one to explain it to you. Just realize that I’m leaving, and it’s because of the disrespect, not the cheating.”

“Damn it, Ianto!” Jack swiped the nearest thing off of the bench, and Ianto’s mother’s bowl crashed to the floor, shattering to bits.

Ianto didn’t even think about it. He reached out, grabbed the gun from Natasha’s holster, and shot Jack in the head.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind comments - so glad folks are excited to see where this goes! 
> 
> I'll go ahead and end the suspense for some of the questions - no, Phil is not Ianto's father, though he will become an important father figure, which I like better (as a personal preference). And no, this won't pair Hawkeye and Ianto, though Clint, Natasha, and Ianto do become great friends.
> 
> And much as I love Jack, and though my M.O. until now has been to redeem his questionable behavior, I'm afraid there's really no coming back from two-timing Ianto with _Gwen_. No fear, though. Greener pastures are ahead, for our former archivist.
> 
> Keep letting me know what you think - chapters 2 and 3 are all about getting Ianto out of Cardiff - preferably without being Retconned or shot for disarming Natasha (oooooohhhh - he's either dead meat for that, or she's intrigued).


	3. Chapter 3

“What the actual _fuck_!” Clint had a weapon trained on Ianto as Natasha just stared at him.

“Yeah. Well… Okay.” Ianto huffed. “So that just happened,” he muttered, lowering the hammer on the gun and engaging the safety before handing it, grip first, to Natasha. “Thanks for the loan.” He looked down and sighed. “For the record, I’ve never actually shot Jack, before.” He chuckled. “Just Owen, that one time.”

He reached into one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out a pad and pen as Clint continued to cover him and ask Natasha what the hell they were supposed to do, now. Ianto quickly scribbled something onto the notepad and then grabbed a couple of old towels and cleaned up as much of the blood and brain matter as he could manage.

“Last time I’m doing this for you, ya twat,” he muttered, sitting down next to Jack’s body and hauling him into his arms.

“Uh, Jones?” Natasha was staring at him like he was some exotic animal, loose from the zoo.

“Just give us a minute,” Ianto replied. “Head shot. Won’t take long.”

Before she could reply, Jack gasped back to life, and Ianto kept him from flailing too violently. “You’re all right, you bloody arse,” he spoke angry words in an oddly incongruent tone that was actually quite soothing.

“Ianto?” Jack looked at him.

Ianto dropped him and stood as Jack exclaimed, “You fucking shot me!”

“Yeah, well, your little temper tantrum broke the only bloody thing I had from my mother, ya twat!” Ianto was finally beginning to lose his cool. He grabbed the pad of paper from the kitchen bench and tossed it at Jack. “That’s the dry cleaner, for the coat,” he huffed. “Not its fault you’re a twat.”

As Jack collected himself, Ianto stepped over to Natasha and Clint and gently lowered their gun arms. “Call it an interagency courtesy that SHIELD is aware of this but does not have him locked in a lab, somewhere. He falls under the protection of both the Queen and the Doctor, so let’s just finish up here, shall we?”

“And you’ve never done that before?” Natasha asked, holstering her weapon.

“You’re a goddamned saint,” Clint clapped him on the shoulder and went back to the box of books he was packing. Hell, _he’d_ wanted to shoot the asshole.

Ianto turned back to Jack and reached out a hand, hauling him to his feet. “I’m sorry I shot you, but you were being deliberately obtuse and hurtful. The bowl was just the final straw. But I apologize for shooting you.” He ran a hand through his hair and walked over to the mantle, where a beautiful old carriage clock sat.

He pulled out the drawer that ran along the base, saying, “The furniture came with the flat, so it can go with it, as well. I’m sure Gwen will want the TV and shit, and I’m sure you’ll give it to her. Whatever else is left shouldn’t fill more than a few boxes.” He pulled the stopwatch from his pocket and stared at it for a moment. “Toshiko’s things didn’t fill up a full unit. Lisa’s couple of boxes are in the same unit. There’s still room for whatever is left, here. It’s number 247.”

“Ianto,” Jack’s eyes widened as he watched Ianto put the stopwatch in the drawer of the antique clock Jack had given him last Christmas and shut it. Ianto then turned to Clint and told him not to pack the clock. “You’re actually going to leave Torchwood?” It was finally sinking in.

Ianto turned back to Jack, letting the older man see all of the heartbreak and sorrow. All of the sadness that Jack had sworn he never wanted to see again, after watching him grieve for Lisa. “I do wish you well, Jack.” He took the older man by the elbow, and led him out the door. “Goodbye.”

“Ianto,” Jack said, but Ianto shut the door. He leaned against the door for a moment, pressing his forehead against the wood before gathering himself and turning back to continue packing. Once they had the contents of four of the bookcases packed, Clint started taking boxes down to the Quinjet. There really weren’t that many, other than for the books, but there were two dozen of them.

The last trip had each of them carrying one of the ladder bookshelves. Clint had managed most of the boxes and the other three bookshelves as the other two packed. He was grateful they had a hover cart on the Quinjet, or he’d have been cursing the lack of a lift. Ianto took another look around before locking his keys in the flat.

“Wait,” Clint stopped. “So there’s a storage place somewhere with dead operatives’ stuff, just boxed up and stored forever?”

Ianto nodded.

“Man, that is _grim_.”

“The worst part is boxing up your best friend’s stuff. An entire life, distilled down to their belongings.” Ianto sniffed. “Sorry. It’s been a day, and I’m being maudlin. Plus, they haven’t been gone, all that long.”

“They?” Natasha asked.

“The bombings, ten weeks ago?” Ianto asked, and they both nodded that they’d heard about them. “That was a Torchwood case. We lost two of our own, trying to stop the psychopath…” he sniffed and looked away.

“Sorry, man. That’s tough.” Clint clapped him on the back again, and they made their way down the stairs. Once everything was stowed and tied down in the Quinjet, Ianto took out the remote and turned up the beacon. He went back in and grabbed one of the chocolate bars he had brought from his desk, and stepped back outside, where Natasha and Clint were resting against the cage with bottles of water.

Natasha handed one to Ianto, who eyed it warily. “That from your own stash?”

“Yeah, why?”

Ianto took it and inspected the seal carefully before huffing out a breath. “Normally there are only two ways out of Torchwood. Death, or Retcon.”

“What the hell is Retcon?” Clint asked, looking startled.

“Wipes your memories. But the longer you’re with Torchwood, the more dangerous the dosage.” He shivered. “For me it’d be almost five years they’d have to take. That’s well more than the maximum safe dosage.”

“Jesus,” Clint muttered.

“Which is why you were expecting him to just shoot you, instead,” Natasha said, realizing now why Coulson had ordered them to help.

Ianto shrugged. “Jack doesn’t give a shit about Fury, and the Queen loves him well enough he probably thinks he could charm her. So yeah, if he was angry enough, I can see him following Torchwood protocol, despite orders.”

“He wasn’t angry when he left, though,” Clint pointed out. “I think you actually got through to him, in the end.”

Ianto sighed. “In the end,” he muttered. “God, I’m really doing this, aren’t I?” He laughed, an edge of hysteria to his tone. It was all achingly familiar, actually.

“Hey, you’re all right,” Natasha reached out and squeezed his arm.

“Yeah,” Ianto huffed, drinking some of the water. “Not like I haven’t had to up sticks and move after my life disintegrated before, either.”

Before they could ask, a great shriek broke the peace of the park, and Ianto looked up, smiling. “There she is.”

“There who is?” Clint asked, looking rattled as an honest to God dinosaur landed, not ten feet from them.

“No big movements, please,” Ianto calmly instructed as he opened the candy wrapper and broke off a chunk of chocolate and tossed it to the creature. “Hello, Love. Are you ready to move to a new place?”

“That’s a…” Clint pointed, and Natasha watched, wide-eyed, as Ianto approached the creature.

“This is Myfanwy,” Ianto smiled, tossing another chunk of chocolate. “She is a pterosaur.” He came within reach of her and began rubbing her like one would a large dog. “And she is a very long way from home.” He gave her another piece of chocolate and quietly asked them to open the cage, which Clint had very kindly put a giant dog bed in. Ianto smiled when he saw, and tossed the rest of the broken up chocolate bar into the far end.

Myfanwy toddled in after the chocolate, and they closed the cage. She barely gave them a backward glance, happily eating her chocolate before settling down for a nap.

“That’s a…” Clint said again, pointing and looking at Natasha with a mad grin on his face.

She could only smile and nod, in reply.

“Well done, with the bed,” Ianto chuckled.

Soon they had the cage loaded and were in the air, flying towards a new life.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little short, but it was a natural breakpoint, so had to go with it. Hope the resolution with Jack was satisfactory. Next up is the introduction to SHIELD. Ianto used to work with Yvonne bloody Hartman, so no way will he be cowed by Nick Fury, right?
> 
> Thanks for reading and kudoing and commenting! (The comments really are the best part of my day!)  
> :D


	4. Chapter 4

Clint wasn’t known for his discretion, so it came as a bit of a surprise to Phil, who had read the mission report, that it didn’t become common knowledge that Ianto Jones had left Torchwood because he had entered into an ill-advised love affair with the head of the institute and had needed to leave when everything had inevitably gone tits up.

What did become common knowledge was that Ianto Jones had disarmed the Black Widow.

And had somehow been allowed to live.

Phil found it interesting that despite knowing why Jones had quit Torchwood ( _precisely_ why, if the report of the final words between Harkness and Jones was anything to go by), Barton and Romanoff seemed to respect the hell out of the Welshman. The young man had somehow earned their regard in the space of the few hours it took them to pack up his flat.

Of course, the pterodactyl didn’t hurt.

Interesting, but not surprising. After all, Phil had decided to poach Jones, despite full knowledge of the younger man’s relationship with Harkness.

Actually, it was difficult to hold that against someone. Coulson knew how dangerous Torchwood was, and how Harkness kept his team so small it actually compounded the dangers. What kind of life was there for an operative who worked sixteen hours a day? Jones was young. He could hardly be blamed for enjoying an arrangement so freely offered and… convenient.

Phil shuddered. Poor kid. Harkness hadn’t necessarily taken advantage, but he’d certainly capitalized on the opportunity.

What was extraordinary was how professional Jones was. His work was above reproach, and so his relationship choices could absolutely be overlooked. Phil was glad that Barton and Romanoff seemed to agree, and that Jones was settling in.

SHIELD headquarters in New York was in one of the lovely high rises in mid-town. SHIELD occupied the lower levels, with plenty of cavernous spaces heated by underground springs for a not-quite warm-blooded creature to be comfortable, with an unused elevator shaft that allowed her to come and go as she pleased. Having become accustomed to city life from living in Cardiff, she knew how to stay away from city sites and find farms outside of the city with the tasty sheep bits.

Phil had soon discovered that Ianto had set up a program to monitor flock diminishments within a certain radius of the city and anonymously reimbursed the farmers from his own funds.

It was one of those things that made the Welshman maddeningly _likeable_.

There were apartments in the upper floors of the building, and Coulson secured one for Jones on the same floor as Romanoff and Barton. The three had formed a friendship that was as unlikely as the one between Romanoff and Barton, with the two veteran agents watching out for the younger man, knowing he was a bit off his game, having been heartbroken and uprooted within the space of a day.

Phil had gotten to know Ianto during several encounters where SHIELD and Torchwood had experienced a congruence of interests. The first time was during a UNIT conference, during which Jones prevented the UNIT colonel from misinforming everyone present. It had been subtle, and Coulson was certain no one else noticed, other than himself and Harkness, but it had been brilliantly done. The colonel saved face and those present were able to leave with the information they needed.

There had been several encounters since, during each of which Jones had shown himself to be hyper-efficient, radically intelligent, and damned _funny_. He was one of the most terrifyingly competent operatives Coulson had ever encountered. Recognizing the imbalance of power in the relationship between Harkness and Jones (the latter was clearly in love, the former, merely in lust), Coulson had approached Fury almost a year before to get permission to begin smoothing the way for Jones to join SHIELD.

Coulson had quickly realized what Ianto did not – that Ianto himself knew full well which way the wind was blowing. But sometimes it’s difficult to let oneself acknowledge such things. Coulson knew of Jones’ losses. Even still, the SHIELD entry debriefing had been eye-opening.

Curious about Coulson’s enthusiasm regarding their newest recruit, Fury himself had attended. Jones had been respectful, but in no way intimidated. It was damned impressive, actually. And when Fury had ordered Jones to go ahead and let them know anything Harkness might try to use to blackmail him back to Torchwood with, the younger man hadn’t held back.

Coulson had ordered a psych evaluation, after. Jones had almost dared them to execute him for the secret Cyberman fiasco, even as he owned his part in it. “I thought she could be saved,” he said simply.

“Were you wrong?”

Ianto shrugged. “The conversion completed itself when she was removed from the ventilator. Was that unavoidable?” He blew out a breath. “Probably. But here’s the thing.” He leaned forward and faced Fury unflinchingly. “Until that moment, she was still Lisa.”

“You seem awfully sure of that.”

Another shrug as he sat back. “I know what I know.”

“And can we trust you to keep the big picture in view, now?”

“I learned my lesson,” Jones said, his eyes sharp. “You’ll be happy to know that since then, I actually shot a teammate who was trying to open the rift.”

“Kill him?”

“I was _aiming_ for his shoulder,” Ianto said a bit crossly, as though it was an old argument.

Fury stared at him for a beat as Coulson smothered a chuckle. “All right. You give us…” he looked at Coulson.

“Five years.”

Fury raised an eyebrow, having expected at least ten. “You give us five years, we make sure no one will ever come at you for that. Not Harkness, not UNIT, no one.”

Ianto stared at him, looking startled. Then he blinked. “Sure,” he said, then grinned. “Might be a laugh, making it to thirty.”

***

Yeah, Phil had sent him for a whole battery of psych evaluations. He and Fury had stared at the results for a good long while.

“Fuck.”

That was Fury.

“How the _fuck_ is he still sane?” Still Fury.

ACE score of nine. The only thing on the test he answered “no” to was sexual abuse. The shrink had mostly believed the answer, so that was something, they supposed. Father in prison for assault, beating the wife and ten year-old boy so badly they’d both been hospitalized, Ianto for weeks. After the conviction, the mother couldn’t cope. In and out of the mental institution for years, and then when he was fourteen Jones found her in the bathtub with her wrists slashed.

He’d lived with his sister and her husband for two years, but the three didn’t get along, and he escaped to university when he was sixteen. He took on an insane course-load (seven classes rather than the normal five), and knowing he’d never survive unless he dealt with his past, he availed himself of the school’s psychologist for intensive therapy.

“Not sure he is,” Coulson shrugged, realizing there was a whole new set of traumas for young Jones to work on, now. “But you know what they say about genius and madness. We can absorb a little crazy, if it comes with that skillset.”

Seemed Torchwood was a meat grinder. Out of university just before his twentieth birthday, Jones had survived his initial placement (not quite the foregone conclusion people would have expected) and a rather extreme round of psi training, and then the fall of One. Then the Cyberman at Three. Cannibals, for Christ’s sake. More than one coworker raised from the dead. An honest-to-god demon. Mind control. Time travelers. Aliens. A motherfucking rift in time and space.

Something called Weevils, on the daily.

“Seriously. What the actual _fuck_?” Because Ianto had pictures of Janet.

“The pterodactyl wasn’t a clue?” Phil asked ironically.

“That bird is seriously cool,” Fury grinned, but then turned serious. “You only asked him for five years.”

“He would have laughed me out of the room if I’d have asked him for ten. He’s been conditioned to think that he won’t make it past the next year or two. You know Torchwood is insanely dangerous. Most operatives don’t make it to middle age, much less retirement. Thinking it’s a novel idea, making it to thirty? Wasn’t a joke.”

“Can our shrinks help him?”

“Hope so.”

SHIELD finally found out how the earth was returned to its solar system after the invasion of the screeching pepperpots.

“It was worth bringing him on, just for that piece of intel,” Coulson crowed.

Ianto had balked at providing any information until they had shown him a second memorandum from the Queen, allowing him to forego the Official Secrets Act, in the interest of planetary security. She knew Fury well enough that any secrets Ianto Jones might divulge were not likely to make it past him and Phil Coulson, anyway.

Ianto was confused as to what his job actually entailed, at first. He quickly commandeered the coffee machine, and began training with Clint and Natasha, without any direction from Coulson. He’d been given a tour of the archives, but SHIELD had their own staff of archivists, and Ianto found it frankly disorientating to see such a well-organized, pristine archive. It vaguely reminded him of One, but he missed the smell of the bay seeping through the walls of the Torchwood Three archives that had been carved from the very earth.

“Oh, I didn’t bring you on to be an archivist,” Phil informed him, a bit concerned until he saw Ianto sag with relief.

“Good,” Ianto nodded, looking around. “This is too much like the Tower. It’s giving me the willies.”

“Let’s go back to my office, then. I’ll explain.”

Coulson wouldn’t have even noticed Ianto’s discomfort, if the younger man hadn’t admitted to it. But as they left the archives, Ianto visibly relaxed, the tension slowly draining from his body, the further away they got.

Once they settled in Phil’s office, the older man spoke. “I don’t have any one job for you, to be honest. But I think I’ve put together an interesting set of responsibilities for you.” He looked at Ianto, who nodded for him to continue. “First of all, you’re a talented archivist. So I want you on retrievals of unknown tat, overseeing the collection, containment, and documentation of whatever comes up.”

Ianto nodded, then his eyes narrowed. “And you have some tat you’d like to identify, if possible.”

Phil grinned. “As a matter of fact, we do.”

Ianto frowned. “Jack identified most of what we found.”

“But you remember everything you ever laid eyes on, yes?”

Ianto winced. He’d hoped they hadn’t known about that.

“What?” Coulson saw the pained expression.

“When does the testing begin?”

“Testing?”

“T1 had weeks of testing. As soon as they found out about my eidetic memory, they dove a bit deeper.” He frowned. “It was… uncomfortable.”

Phil translated that to mean excruciating. “We’ll do some aptitude tests, but nothing like what you experienced at Torchwood.”

Ianto nodded. Phil wasn’t certain whether the younger man believed him, but thankfully he was being truthful.

“And lastly,” Coulson grinned as he considered the final aspect of the job he had created for Jones. “You seem particularly adept at handling people.” At the raised eyebrow, he continued, “Director Fury has a project he’s developing. It will take some people skills, to wrangle some of these egos and convince them to work together.”

“And you think that, having dealt with Jack’s ego, I’m qualified?” Ianto asked, frowning.

“Jones, I saw you make the Queen of England giggle and blush,” Coulson grinned. “Trust me, you’re qualified.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Ianto's getting settled in. Next he'll start meeting interesting new people. But he's missing lost friends, even as he finds the new ones who'll look out for him better than he's used to.
> 
> Hope you're enjoying - kudos and comments are hoarded greedily. :)


	5. Chapter 5

“Pepper, this new formula isn’t working!” Tony whined as they walked through the door.

“Miss Potts saw us in, but she did not accompany us.”

Tony spun around and saw Coulson standing there with another suit. However… Tony’s eyes narrowed. The young man was wearing a particularly fine suit. Savile Row, if he wasn’t mistaken. Tony stared for a moment, curious if he’d make the man uncomfortable. He was young. And he knew how to wear the hell out of a suit.

Not many people realized, Tony had observed. You can’t just have a nice suit. You have to know how to _wear_ it. For example, Agent Coulson’s suits were modest and well-constructed, and he wore them with a casual indifference that suited his wry manner. But you get a four or five thousand dollar bespoke suit on a fit young man who could strike a balance between grace and formality…

It was kind of hot, and Tony didn’t even swing that way.

He realized the younger man was eyeing the formula Tony had been noodling on the board, apparently oblivious to the scrutiny he was currently under. So much for making him uncomfortable. Maybe a bit of flirting would send the kid running for cover.

“Agent Coulson,” Tony said, never moving his eyes from the younger… agent? “Always a pleasure. A little busy here, but I’m happy enough to take a break.” He leaned into the kid’s space, finally drawing his attention. “Have you brought me a new toy?”

The kid’s eyes flicked to Tony, then back to the board. “Down, boy,” he muttered, and fucking hell, what was that accent? Tony blinked as the younger man continued to speak. “And your formula doesn’t work because you dropped an expression.”

“Couldn’t have,” Tony denied, not even glancing back at the board.

“It’s no small wonder,” the stranger continued. “Your handwriting is dreadful.” He walked closer to the board and grabbed a pen. “Did no one ever tell you that messy and interesting are _not_ the same thing?”

He uncapped the pen and circled the part of the formula in question. “There. Unless you’ve invented magic, then this shouldn’t have disappeared between the sixth and seventh lines.”

Tony finally dragged his eyes away from the young agent and took a hard look at the neat red circle, as well as the hole in the formula, the next line down. “Well I’ll be damned.”

“Mr. Stark,” Coulson said, and butter wouldn’t melt. Tony knew this day would likely be remembered in unfortunate ways. “I’d like to introduce you to Agent Jones.”

“Agent,” Tony tossed the greeting over his shoulder, still staring at the formula. Something was still off.

“Where did you find it?” the younger man asked softly, and when Tony turned to look at him, his expression was almost _wistful_ as he stared at the formula. He absently reached out and added the missing end to the ninth line, and Tony’s head exploded.

“What?” Tony stared for a moment, his mind boggling at the simplicity and elegance of the equation.

“Where did you find it?” the kid repeated. “It was a personal doodle of a genius actually worthy of the title.”

That brought Tony up short. He turned to the kid and snarked, “Are you trying to imply I’m not a genius? Because I have my certificate from Mensa, and everything.”

The agent turned calmly to Tony and said, “I believe we were discussing the author of this beautiful bit of maths. But if you’d like to make it about you, then yes, we’re all well aware that your IQ was measured at 270. But I also know that this one,” he pointed at the board with a sad smile, “broke the scale.”

“And what does that mean?” Tony looked from the kid to Coulson, who was eyeing the kid with what Tony could only call sympathy.

“Means they stopped testing after they came up with 285 and realized there was still untapped potential they had no way of measuring.”

Tony gave a low whistle. He had only met one other person with an IQ over 250. That made him literally the smartest person he knew. To think… 285. He wanted to meet this person. Then he frowned. No way SHIELD showing up was a coincidence. He decided he might get a bit of information if he was willing to give up a bit.

He shrugged. “It was released on the deep web this morning. Someone with the handle ‘Ume’. Apparently, that’s a Japanese Apricot.”

“Delicate, blush pink blossoms,” Ianto said quietly. “Symbolizing elegance, faithfulness, and a pure heart.” He had suggested the handle for her.

Tony looked at him for a beat. “Yeah, whatever. _Heavy_ encryption.” He shrugged again. “I may have lifted this and left the cupboard bare.” He looked at Coulson. “But not before someone noticed, apparently.”

Ianto nodded. “Makes sense. Today’s her birthday.” He turned to Coulson. “So was this little test for Stark, or for me?”

Stark’s eyes widened, and he noticed Coulson’s did, as well, if only fractionally. The agent definitely hadn’t expected Jones to challenge him in front of Tony. Tony smirked. He had to hand it to Coulson, though. The guy kept his cool.

“Both, I suppose. What does the formula do?”

Jones hesitated, and Stark snorted. “Nothing, really. It’s just a pretty little proof about time and space.”

“Practical applications?”

“Pff,” Tony waved his hand, already thinking about some mods he wanted to make on his next suit. “Just brain candy.” He turned to the board and began erasing the formula. “Tell your friend it’s a sweet little piece of brain candy, though.” He eyed the young agent, curious. “I assume you recognized the formula because you’d seen it before, but do you understand the principals behind it?”

Ianto gave an enigmatic smile. Some of the best times with Toshiko were spent poring over the projects that stemmed from that one formula. Her time lock in the hub was one that he hadn’t seen, though he remembered her speculating about it, one time. It seemed only fitting that someone like Stark, who was unlikely to abuse it (now), had inherited it. It was equally fitting that Stark didn’t recognize what it was he had (yet). Someday, when he was ready, perhaps he would. In the meantime, Ianto knew how to keep a secret.

“The mathematics, the physics, or the quantum theory?”

Tony crossed his arms over his chest and looked slightly surprised. “Yes?”

“Oh, I’m just an archivist, sir. Like you said, I merely recognized the formula.”

“Sir, huh?” Tony looked smug. “But you know the author of that little beauty?”

Coulson was watching Jones closely. This was better than he could have imagined. As suspected, the formula had been one of Sato’s. She had used the ‘Ume’ handle before, but it was tough to be certain, particularly since Jones had confirmed she was deceased, and they hadn’t gotten a very good look at the formula before Stark took it and spiked the site.

As a bonus, Jones had handled Stark perfectly, setting himself up to be completely underestimated, in future. He had neatly defused the entire exchange and somehow Stark had lost interest in the formula before the conversation even peaked.

Now, Jones’ face had become an impassive mask. Normally he was open and eloquent of expression, unless something touched his grief. It had only been ten days since he fled Cardiff, but Coulson, Barton and Romanoff had made an effort to ensure the young man did not feel alone or isolated in his new life. The SHIELD shrink assigned to the new agent had assured Phil of Jones’ stability, but his grief was profound. Worse still, he seemed to be an expert at hiding the depths of his pain, so it was difficult to gauge how he was actually doing.

“You could never hope to meet a finer person,” Jones replied, and Stark nodded, no longer particularly interested.

Phil decided he didn’t like that mask, one bit.

***

“Any idea where Ianto is?” Natasha asked before Phil had even opened his door. He looked over her shoulder and saw that Clint was with her.

“Haven’t seen him since we returned from Stark’s,” Phil answered, frowning. “He went to catalogue some artifacts. Is there a problem?”

“He cut out before we could find him,” she said, not taking a seat. She looked… worried.

Well wasn’t that an interesting development?

“Well, he starts before the sun comes up. I don’t have a problem with him cutting out when he’s done,” Phil said reasonably.

“I think he’s avoiding us,” she replied.

“Nat says he’s not eating,” Clint muttered.

“People grieve in different ways,” Phil said. “Shrink says he’s fine.”

“You really think he wouldn’t know how to fool them?” she asked. “He lies better than I do.”

Wow. _That_ was saying something.

Phil nodded. Perhaps it’d be best to track down Jones, be sure he was all right. “Today would have been Toshiko Sato’s birthday. Perhaps he’s down with Myfanwy?”

“We checked. She’s out hunting.”

Phil pulled out his phone and called up the locator program.

***

As they entered the park, they all looked around warily.

“Uh, guys?” Clint said tentatively. “Why don’t we go back and wait for him? What if he’s…”

“Do not finish that sentence, Barton,” Phil barked.

“He’s not trolling the park to pick up guys, Clint,” Natasha said, her voice low.

“You sure about that, are you?” Clint asked ironically. “This could get awkward, really fast, you know.”

“Stop it,” she hissed.

“He’s _gay_ ,” Clint pointed out.

“Yeah, and he almost ended the world over a woman, too,” Natasha pointed out.

Phil stopped short. “And how exactly did you determine that, Agent Romanoff?” He was _pissed_.

She had the good sense to look abashed. “I may have overheard something.”

“Out of line, Romanoff,” Phil wagged a finger in her face.

“I only heard that,” she confessed. “And the ACE score.” She looked at him. “Don’t you worry it might be a ten, after all?”

“It’s none of your business.”

She shrugged. “Can’t help what I overheard.”

“Hey, I think I see him,” Clint interrupted the whispered argument.

They strode towards the young man sitting in his shirtsleeves on a lone bench, out in the open and away from the footpaths. As they approached, a young man in impossibly tight jeans strode up and said something. He was quickly sent away again, though Ianto’s voice did not carry to them.

“Told you he wouldn’t be so crass as to troll in the park,” Natasha muttered.

“Every gay guy I know has done it,” Clint declared.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Bi.”

“I believe the term is demi, actually,” Ianto said quietly, having heard at least some of their conversation as they approached.

“Wow. Tough gig, man,” Clint said, dropping onto the grass a few feet in front of the bench as Natasha and Phil sat on either side of Ianto. It was near impossible for someone who was demi to just go out and get laid. Seemed to go against their nature, somehow.

Ianto took a sip from his glass, then passed it to Phil. It was a very fine whisky. After Clint and Natasha had passed the glass, Ianto refilled it. They noticed that the bottle was more than half empty.

He raised the glass. “To Toshiko Sato. Brilliant woman, brave operative, beautiful soul. _Damned_ good friend.” He sniffed and took a sip. “Happy birthday, Tosh.”

“Toshiko Sato,” Phil raised the glass and drank. Clint and Natasha followed suit as the glass made its way into their hands.

“I’d actually forgotten it was her birthday,” Ianto sniffed again. “I don’t forget things. I… How could I forget?” he was grinding his teeth, trying to hold back the emotion that was swamping him.

Natasha wrapped an arm around him. “It’s all right, bratishka.”[1]

He sniffed again, and they just sat and drank, for a while. Ianto looked around, shaking his head. “It’s so weird, being in a park at night, and not hunting Weevils.” He chuckled. “The team always said it was a euphemism, but we always at least started out, actually hunting Weevils.”

“You and Jack?” Natasha asked gently.

Ianto sniffed as he nodded. “I feel stupid for missing him, but he was always the one to hold me steady, when missing Tosh and Owen got too much.”

“It’s not stupid,” Phil said. “He may not have acted like it, but he was your partner. It’s okay to miss him, even if you don’t want him back.” He hesitated. “How’d he keep you steady?”

“Work projects, mostly,” Ianto sniffed, unwilling to speak of distractions of a more personal nature. “I…” he cleared his throat, embarrassed. “I didn’t have the best childhood,” he began, and Phil wondered if a declaration could be any more understated than this. Ianto shrugged, acknowledging this, and continued, “As soon as I got to uni I started therapy. My decision to go hadn’t gone down well with Rhia. So for a lot of reasons I was in bad shape, and I knew it.”

“Your sister?” Clint asked.

“Rhiannon,” Ianto nodded.

“Therapy’s a bold choice for a sixteen year-old,” Phil pointed out.

“Everyone kept saying I’d end up like one, the other, or both of my parents. I was terrified they were right.”

“Nightmare parents?” Clint asked, the only one who hadn’t seen or heard about the results of Ianto’s initial psych evaluations.

“Sperm donor’s in prison for almost beating us to death. Not likely to ever be paroled – he’s killed at least two other inmates and keeps getting years added to his sentence. And Mam killed herself. So yeah. The lovely matrons on the estate were expecting murder, suicide, or maybe even both from me.

“Jesus. Sorry, man,” Clint shook his head.

Ianto shrugged. “Got a stubborn streak, me. Didn’t want to give the old tabbies the satisfaction, so I started working shit out. Hit it hard for those four years, and mostly came out of it pretty healthy.”

“But?” Natasha asked gently.

He shrugged again. “I tend to fixate. It’s how I cope. Couldn’t quite cull that habit. So. Coped with my childhood by fixating on therapy. Coped with Torchwood One by fixating on the work. Coped with surviving Canary Wharf by fixating on getting Lisa cured.” He snorted, then swiped at a tear. “Coped with losing Lisa by fixating on work again. And Jack,” he added, sighing. “Coped with Jack running off by fixating on field work.”

“And after losing Sato and Harper, you were fixated on work again, because Torchwood was short-handed,” Phil guessed. At Ianto’s nod, he sighed. “So now you’re here, but there’s not enough for you to sink your teeth into, yet.”

Ianto didn’t want to seem ungrateful. “I’m not complaining, sir. Really. And unpacking and getting settled in is keeping me busy.”

“Which is why you’re drinking in the park,” Clint said, though not unkindly.

Phil reached out and clapped Ianto on the back. “I know you’re not complaining. But I’m glad you’ve told me this. There are some special projects I can dig up, to help keep you afloat until you find your equilibrium.”

“As coping mechanisms go, it’s not that bad,” Natasha nudged his shoulder. “Pretty sure you’re not an alcoholic or drug addict, or any of a dozen things that are worse than throwing yourself into your work. But,” she gave him a hard, steady look. “You’re going to eat at least one meal a day with one of us until you’re feeling more yourself. Got it?”

Ianto gave her a lopsided smile. It had been a while since he’d felt like someone cared enough to look out for him, like this.

“Got it.”

***

[1] Little brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like this one! I'm kind of pleased at how Tony's voice / snark / ADD feels kind of true to character, and how Ianto played him, a bit. 
> 
> Next up, I start messing with MCU canon and timelines (more than already, with Tony being a bit more in contact with SHIELD than in canon).
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	6. Chapter 6

“What the hell was that?” Fury was living up to his name, and Sitwell was looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Coulson was sitting opposite Sitwell, on what would be Fury’s right, if the director were sitting at the table. He was pacing, instead. He’d just had to chase down Steve Rogers, who’d done a runner after that _ridiculous_ display.

“We were trying to ease him into…” Sitwell began, but Fury cut him off.

“I will tell you when I want you to answer, Agent Sitwell,” he snarked. He wanted to rant for a moment, and did not appreciate the interruption.

Just then, the door slammed open, bouncing off the wall hard enough to almost latch as it closed again behind an absolutely _incandescent_ Welshman.

Phil frowned. “Ianto?”

“What the actual _fuck_ was that?” Ianto thundered. “ _This_ is how you treat your heroes? Is this an American thing, or a SHIELD thing? Because I’m fairly certain even Torchwood could have managed something less disastrous.” He paused for a breath and then clarified, “Torchwood _One_.”

Fury flinched at the comparison, but the kid wasn’t wrong.

“I’m not going to sit here and be questioned by a _junior_ agent,” Sitwell straightened, smoothing a hand over his tie.

“Junior?” Ianto sneered at the barb. “Sitwell, I’ve seen things that would curl your… oh,” he snapped his fingers as he looked at the agent. “My mistake. Never mind.”

Coulson frowned. Ianto had been with them for a few months now, but had never taken to Jasper. And the feeling had definitely been mutual. Sitwell had been subtly bullying from almost the moment he’d met Ianto, and Ianto had been distrustful. Not the normal reaction to bullying behavior, and it made Coulson wonder. He had a great deal of respect for Ianto Jones’ instincts, he just couldn’t imagine what it was about _Jasper_ that got up the Welshman’s nose.

Well, other than the bullying. But clearly Ianto could dish it out as well as he could take it.

“Do we have junior agents?” Fury asked Coulson.

“We do not, sir.”

Ianto looked to Fury, who had raised an eyebrow at the bald joke but had not taken offense. Knowing full well that Ianto hadn’t forgotten Fury was in the room – clearly the kid enjoyed skating a fine line, on occasion – Nick merely looked at Ianto, wondering why the young agent was demanding a seat at this particular table. To his knowledge, Phil had barely even hinted to Jones their plans.

“Something to say, Agent Jones?” he asked, curious where this would go.

Ianto paced, running a hand through his hair. “Honestly, sir, I have no idea where to even begin. That… that _farce_ … it’s like it was deliberately designed to alienate Captain Rogers.”

“Now wait a minute,” Sitwell protested.

“He wakes up in a cardboard set, listening to a baseball game from 1941, despite the fact that he went into the ice in 1945, and we have broadcasts of games from after that date, readily available on the server,” Ianto began, and spoke over Sitwell’s next attempt at a protest with, “I _checked_.” He huffed. “Found it before you managed to chase him down, sir.”

“It was an honest mistake,” Sitwell huffed.

“As was, I’m sure, Agent Collins’ hair not being 1945 Army regulation, nor her uniform being quite up to snuff. Simple details,” Jones seethed. “Never mind that the whole charade was completely ridiculous. What was the plan? Lie to him, and then one day say, ‘oh, by the way, we’ve been lying to you – it’s actually the 21st century, we’ve just been mindfucking you since you woke up’?”

“Yes, Agent Jones. It was a fuckup, start to finish. We’re pretty clear on that,” Fury snarked.

“Why didn’t you raise these concerns before the plan was implemented?” Coulson asked, noticing Sitwell shift in his seat.

“I would have, had I been consulted,” Ianto shot his cuffs. “I take it I was meant to be read in on this?”

Coulson looked at Sitwell.

“We had difficulty reaching Agent Jones,” Jasper muttered.

“I’ve received no emails, no calls, no texts. And I’ve been at my desk the past ten days, sorting through that tat you took off the geezer upstate.” He stared hard at Sitwell. “And you’ve had _no_ problems finding my coffee this week, Agent Sitwell.”

“Jasper, we’ll discuss later why you failed to follow orders and hand this off to Agent Jones,” Coulson said, clearly annoyed.

“He’s Welsh. We wanted to handle it, ourselves,” Sitwell blurted.

Ianto blinked at Sitwell, and Coulson groaned. Fury let out an annoyed sound.

Sitwell turned to Ianto and snarked. “What makes you think you could’ve done any better?” he sneered.

“Am I the only one here who can understand what it must be like, to lose one’s entire life in a single moment?” Ianto asked quietly. “He crashed into the ice in 1945. The next thing he knows, it’s 2008. Not only has he lost everyone and everything he ever knew, but he’s been displaced in time, as well. He has lost absolutely _everything_. He didn’t deserve to wake alone in a strange, staged place, having been dressed up like a doll of some sort – that’s just creepy, by the way! – listening to a game he’d attended _years_ before, and being lied to.”

“So what should have been the play?” Fury asked.

“Bring him to in the medical bay, private room. One of us sitting there, so he’s not alone when he wakes.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Sitwell was pouting, now.

“Is it?” Ianto asked. “Steve Rogers is a tactician. A strategist. A _soldier_. He’s not a man you try to manipulate. You give it to him straight, and then help him through it on the back end.” Ianto sighed. “The problem is, now he knows your go-to plan was to manipulate him. You’ve lost your shot at building trust, much less any sort of rapport.”

Ianto turned hard eyes to Sitwell, and Coulson watched as Jasper squirmed under the scrutiny. Whatever Jones was looking for, it was impossible to discern whether he had found it, for in the next moment he was turning back to Coulson and Fury.

“I would like to take over as Captain Rogers’ handler, please.” He raised his voice slightly to be heard over Sitwell’s sputtering protests. “If I am right about how my position is to evolve, it only makes sense, yes?”

It took a bit of effort for Fury to keep his jaw from dropping. Coulson’s blink was the only outward sign of his surprise, but he recovered well enough.

“Jasper, we’ll debrief later,” Coulson said, and Sitwell understood that he’d been dismissed. He glared at Jones on his way out of the room, but Ianto studiously ignored him.

“You’re not a junior agent, but you’d do well to remember that he does have seniority over you,” Coulson admonished.

“Of course, sir,” Ianto answered mildly. “But I do have concerns about how this was handled.”

“You think it was deliberate,” Fury’s eyebrows shot up.

“I think Agent Sitwell is a competent agent, unlikely to accidentally make that many tactical errors, all in one go.”

“We were actually about to discuss that,” Coulson said. “What do you think his excuse would have been?”

“I have evidence of attempts being made to access my email account. I think if I hadn’t shown up here, I’d have been stitched up.” Ianto slid a jump drive across the table to Coulson. “Keystroke capture and IP address of the computer trying to access mine, as well as a time-stop showing my email account and all activity in the last ten days. No one attempted to contact me regarding Captain Rogers.”

“That’s some heavy-duty protection on your computer,” Fury was looking at Ianto. The kid was cagey, and he wasn’t wrong about how Rogers had been handled.

Ianto shrugged. “At One I learned paranoia from Yvonne Hartman. At Three I learned how to protect myself from Toshiko Sato.”

“Fair enough,” Fury said, sitting. “So what’s Sitwell’s agenda?”

“You’ve been uneasy around him, from the first time you met him,” Coulson added.

“Well, he is a bit of a twat,” Ianto muttered, then took Sitwell’s chair. He looked from Coulson to Fury, then shook his head. “It’s nothing I can put my finger on, really. Just a feeling. But have you noticed…” he cleared his throat and looked from one to the other, again. “All of the bullies hang out together.”

“Bullies?” Coulson sat back in his chair, nonplussed.

“Rumlow, Rollins, Garrett, Sitwell, Kaminsky,” he looked at them again and shrugged. “They like my coffee.” He leaned forward. “But here’s the thing. Outside the members of the STRIKE team, they really shouldn’t know one another all that well, should they?”

Coulson frowned. No, they shouldn’t.

Ianto nodded to himself. “And yet, they do.”

“What are you proposing?” Fury knew something was rotten in SHIELD, but he’d been unable to suss it out. Perhaps Jones was on to something.

“A bit of distance, perhaps,” Ianto looked regretfully at Coulson. He didn’t want to distance himself from the first true mentor he’d had who wasn’t a sociopath (Yvonne) or… Jack.

Coulson nodded. “I’ll spread the word. How will you keep contact?”

“Let me be a point of contact with Stark,” Ianto said. “And Rogers’ handler. I’ll read him in.”

“How do you know about the Initiative?” Fury asked.

“Coulson mentioned ego wrangling, early on,” Ianto smiled. “As soon as Rogers was found, I began to wonder, though I doubt his ego will be the problem.”

“No, I shouldn’t think so.” Fury stood. “You ready to make this look good?”

Ianto smirked. “Do your worst, sir.” At the raised eyebrow, he chuckled. “Clearly, you never had a strip torn off by Yvonne.”

“Hartman was a truly terrifying woman,” Coulson shuddered.

***

After a very public bollocking, Ianto headed for Rogers’ quarters. Along the way, he strolled by Sitwell’s desk. “You’re welcome,” he said quietly.

Sitwell bristled. “What are you talking about?”

Ianto shrugged. “I don’t know your game. Don’t care, really. But you were sloppy. Make your excuses, and make them good, and you’ll be in the clear.”

“The halls were ringing with the ass-chewing you got,” Sitwell smirked. “I’m surprised they’re still giving you Rogers.”

Ianto rolled his eyes. “Of course they did. You couldn’t have set me up any more perfectly to walk in and take the job.”

Sitwell looked thoughtful. Ianto shrugged again and walked away.

He didn’t get far. In the next moment, he was being manhandled into one of the supply closets by Rumlow and Sitwell.

“I think it’s time for a certain Brit to be disappeared,” Rumlow growled.

“That would be a mistake,” Ianto replied, working to keep his voice even.

_How the bloody fuck had he gotten himself into this?_

“And why would that be?” Sitwell had a gun to his head, even as Rumlow held a knife to his throat.

Oh, yeah. He’d had to quit Torchwood because Jack couldn’t resist boning Gwen bloody Cooper.

He huffed, then pulled himself together. He could do this. Grand scheme, this was nowhere near as dangerous as keeping a cyberwoman in the basement.

“Hail Hydra.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am super excited about this chapter. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Next up is Cap getting won over and read in. 
> 
> And... oh, yeah. All of the children on the planet start chanting.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve was sitting at a modest dining table in the sterile quarters he’d been assigned. Ianto walked in with a tray, kicking the door shut behind him. “Captain Rogers,” he said, setting the tray down and reaching out his hand. Steve took it instinctively. “My name is Ianto Jones, and I’ve convinced the idiots involved to allow me to help you.”

Steve eyed him warily. “Where are you from?”

“Wales,” Ianto pressed the plunger in the coffee press and inhaled as the aroma of one of his best blends was released. He closed his eyes for a moment and smiled, knowing his behavior was confusing. He poured a cup of coffee and set it in front of Steve, then poured himself a cup. He sat back and sipped, savoring the warmth and rich flavor.

Steve looked like he wanted to take the coffee, but he was – understandably – suspicious. Ianto nodded. “Here. Take mine.” He quickly placed his cup in front of Steve, then slid Steve’s cup closer to himself. Steve picked up the mug and gave the coffee a sniff. An appreciative sound followed the first sip.

“Forgive me, but there isn’t a proper biscuit on the premises,” Ianto said, tearing open a new package of Fig Newtons. He had it on good authority (his own research) that Rogers favored them, and he knew that opening the package in front of him would help build trust. He took one of the biscuits and tasted it, raising his eyebrows in surprise when it wasn’t completely horrid.

Steve had eaten most of the package by the time they finished their coffee. They had sipped and munched in companionable silence; Steve was waiting for Ianto to speak, Ianto was letting Steve wait.

Ianto reached into his pocket and hit a button on the remote he had hidden, there. Then he pulled it out and held it up for Steve to see. “Cameras and microphones have been disabled,” he smiled, then shrugged. “Well, the official ones, anyway. Seems part of the building’s systems just went down. Will take an hour to reboot.”

“And can’t be traced back to you,” Steve sat back.

“Certainly not,” Ianto lifted the carafe, and Steve slid his mug forward. “We are still being monitored, but by people we can trust.”

“Says you.”

“I suppose I should introduce myself, then,” Ianto smiled.

“Ianto Jones, you said. SHIELD agent, I presume?”

“Well that’s where it gets a bit interesting,” Ianto smiled. “Would I be correct in assuming you have heard of Torchwood?”

Steve’s eyes widened. “The ones who claim to fight aliens?”

“I came to SHIELD from Torchwood, Captain.”

“In Wales?”

“I started in the London office, but…” Ianto’s head gave a strange sort of shake – too big a movement to be called a tic, but too small to be called any sort of gesture. It was more like an attempt to shake something off. “I ended up in Cardiff,” he finished.

“Seems like a strange place to put a worldwide alien-fighting organization,” Steve sat back, deciding to enjoy his coffee as this unfolded. He had the distinct feeling that Jones had gone off script, and he was intrigued.

Ianto nodded. “It does, at that. But Torchwood is in Cardiff to watch over a rift in time and space.”

“A…” Steve frowned. Where the hell was this going?

Ianto smiled enigmatically. He could practically hear Coulson and Fury swallowing their tongues. “All sorts of things wash up in Cardiff,” he said. “Including someone from the future.”

Steve shook his head and set down the mug. “Look, this is all very interesting, but what does it have to do with…”

Ianto interrupted him. “Well, that person from the future may have told me something very interesting about…” Ianto looked around him, and Steve went sill, “…things.”

“Things?” Steve asked.

“Well, one thing. He was usually very good about not giving up details. And then I left Torchwood and joined SHIELD. But,” he smiled, “I tend to remember things.”

Steve rubbed his eyes. “Must you speak in riddles?”

“I tell you this, Captain, because you need to know that I am not SHIELD, the way everyone else you will meet is. I didn’t come up through the ranks, here. In fact, I only joined a few months ago.”

“So?” Steve frowned, shaking his head.

“So…” Ianto leaned forward. “Every vow I have taken has been to my Queen and to this planet. I have no other allegiances, and I am in no way embroiled in any sub-loyalties. Can you appreciate that?”

Steve stared at Ianto for a long moment, then slowly nodded. Jones spoke of the planet the way Steve had always felt about his country. “So… SHIELD is what the SSR grew into, yes?”

“Correct. It was established by Chester Phillips, Howard Stark, and Peggy Carter.” He sat back and gave Steve a chance to breathe through that information. After a few moments, when Steve looked a bit steadier, Ianto added, “I am sorry for your losses, Captain.”

Steve nodded.

“Try not to be startled,” Ianto said quietly, reaching out and taking Steve’s hand, making sure that the coffee carafe obstructed the camera’s view of their joined hands. In the next moment, Steve almost jumped out of his skin as he heard Jones’ voice _inside his head_. Ianto squeezed his hand, hard. _I said, try not to be startled. They’re listening._

“You said they could be trusted,” Steve muttered.

_They can, but no one can know about this, yet._

“How?” Steve asked.

“We’ll get you acclimated, Captain. Not to worry. More coffee?” _Something I… learned at Torchwood. I am a touch telepath, so I can safely communicate with you, this way. SHIELD is not aware of this ability._

Steve’s eyes widened, but then he gave a slight nod, looking down at the table. It would appear to anyone watching that Jones was simply offering consolation.

_Just listen. I am so sorry to have to break it to you this way, but Hydra is still active. It went underground when SHIELD was formed. They thought it had been defeated, but it has grown up within SHIELD, like a parasite. That farce that you woke to was meant to build distrust – to isolate you. You can talk about that, if you’d like._

“What the hell was that about, with the playacting?” Steve’s anger blazed at the thought that Hydra was still around.

“I believe they forgot you are a soldier who would prefer straight intelligence, and they instead tried to ease you into the news.” _I am not Hydra. But I believe I have successfully gained their trust by getting access to you. But I’ll need your help, to pull this off._

“So what’s the play?”

_They need to think that I’m successfully isolating you. I’m afraid you’ll only have me, until we can sort this. I’m sorry for that. Perhaps you can allow your grief to show. You’ll have time to properly mourn, and I’ll collect names so SHIELD can cull Hydra from its ranks._

“I’ll need something to do.”

“We’ll spend some time getting you acclimated to this century.” _The best thing you can do is help me sell my story. They’ll kill me in a heartbeat, if they think I’m not trying to work against you. You just have a good mope, and that will go a long way to making sure I can get the names of the Hydra agents._

“That’s not enough,” Steve said stubbornly.

“Let yourself adjust, Captain,” Ianto said. “It’s a lot to take in, truly.” _It won’t be an act. The best thing you can do is take care of yourself. Your grief will look like depression, to them. But you’ll be doing the healthy thing and allowing yourself to mourn, and you won’t be susceptible to their tactics. You’ll be strong when the time comes to fight, and you’ll have the element of surprise, because they’ll expect you to be weak._

Steve nodded slowly, and Ianto released his hand and leaned back. He hesitated. “I know you have no reason to trust me,” he began.

Steve held up a hand, silencing Ianto. “Actually, Mr. Jones, I am an excellent judge of character.” He gave a smirk that had Ianto raising an eyebrow, but he returned the smile.

“I’m glad, sir. And please, call me Ianto.”

***

It had only been a month, but Ianto had gained access to a great deal of information and a shocking number of names. He devised a simple code and constructed formulas to conceal the coded names. Stark pretended they were a part of a project Coulson had asked Ianto to assist him with, and carefully compiled them. But without the cipher, the formulas were of no use.

Ianto had not revealed the cipher, knowing that the time was not right. It was approaching, but in the meantime, all of the children on the planet had begun chanting.

“Jones, we’ve intercepted some interesting chatter,” Fury said, having called Ianto into his office. It was the first time Ianto had seen either Fury or Coulson since the day he became Steve Rogers’ handler.

“Sir?” Ianto was curious.

“Seems the British government has issued a blank page on one Captain Jack Harkness,” Fury said conversationally.

Ianto blinked. “But…” He gave that strange not-a-tic shake of the head. Coulson had come to realize it was a trauma response. Ianto’s face hardened. “Jack is under the protection of the Queen,” he snarled. “How dare they defy her!” He paced for a moment, muttering. “This must mean he knows something about these aliens.”

He stopped and turned to Fury. “Permission to take a small team to Cardiff, sir?”

“Including?” Fury tried not to grin. It would be interesting to see the kid run his own op. Well, out in the open, anyway.

“Romanoff, Barton, Rogers, and Stark.”

“Stark?”

“With Toshiko gone, if anyone can crack the signal they’re using to access the children…”

“I take your point,” Fury nodded. “Go.”

***

“I don’t like being summoned,” Stark drawled as he climbed onto the Quinjet. Ianto smirked. For all his attitude, Tony had scrambled as quickly as the rest of the team.

As they approached Cardiff, Ianto called Gwen.

“We’re busy, Ianto,” she groused.

“I need to find Jack, Gwen.”

“Why?”

“There’s a kill order on him. We need to stop it from happening and find out what’s going on.”

“A kill order? You’re having me on!”

“Gwen, just tell me where to find him.”

She eventually complied, and they landed on the roof of the hospital. They were too late to prevent Jack being shot, but they were able to stop the bomb from being implanted in his belly. Ianto felt disgust at the heinous plan that had almost been enacted.

Jack revived, feeling a pang at having awakened once more, Ianto’s comforting arms absent. And yet, as he looked up, he saw an absolute vision. Ianto Jones was there, holding his hand. “Ianto?” he frowned. Over Ianto’s shoulder he saw Iron Man, and… Captain America? The two who had taken Ianto away from Cardiff were holding a woman, off to the side.

“We should get back to the hub before we’re seen,” Ianto said, helping Jack to his feet.

Jack staggered, and leaned on Ianto perhaps a bit more than necessary. He felt another pang as Ianto asked Barton to assist Jack. He and Steve took the prisoner, and Romanoff went to prep the Quinjet.

As they landed on the Plass, Jack held his questions. He sent Ianto and Rogers down with Romanoff and the prisoner, and then he, Barton and Stark followed.

Ianto had just released Martha from a bear hug and shook Mickey’s hand. He greeted Gwen with a coolness that had Steve raising an eyebrow.

“Is Janet still in the vaults?” he asked the three Torchwood operatives after introducing Steve.

“Yes, why?” Gwen asked.

“Just curious,” he said, taking Johnson and heading towards the stairs.

The lift arrived with the others just as Steve followed. Everyone trailed after him.

“Hello, Janet, love!” Ianto smiled broadly as he felt Johnson bridle in his hold. “Did you miss me, sweetheart?”

“What the actual…” Stark muttered.

Janet approached the Perspex door, and Ianto unexpectedly slammed Johnson into it, causing the Weevil to snarl and make a respectable effort to break through the partition.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Steve has been read in. The next chapter will conclude the CoE-ish arc. It didn't go where I expected it to...
> 
> After that it'll be back to the cloak and dagger bit.
> 
> Hope you're enjoying - let me know what you think! :)


	8. Chapter 8

“Ianto!” Steve protested.

Ianto pulled Johnson back, and she was whimpering as her nose bled from the impact. “Do you have _any_ idea what could have happened, had you bombed the hub? Destroyed the rift manipulator? You could have blown the rift wide open! Destroyed the fucking planet! And for what?”

He slammed her back into the partition, and Janet continued to roar. He held her against the Perspex and snarled in her ear, “That was not a rhetorical question!”

“We don’t know why orders are given,” she growled. “We just carry them out.”

“So who made the order, then?” he asked, slamming her against the partition, yet again. “Don’t think for a moment I won’t feed you to Janet. I’ve bled too much, protecting this planet from that bloody rift.”

“Dovol'no!” Natasha growled.[1]

“I blizko net,” Ianto snarled in reply.[2]

The others just stared. Torchwood was not used to seeing Ianto being so forceful. Nor was SHIELD, to be honest, but they were more used to seeing Ianto take charge.

“It was Frobisher!” Johnson admitted as Janet slammed into the partition from the other side, making it rattle precariously. “Please, get me away from that thing!”

Ianto turned her around and handed her a handkerchief. “Speak,” he ordered.

As she cleaned the blood from her face, she explained that a blank page had been issued on Jack Harkness and several others, and that Frobisher had issued it, with Prime Minister Green’s authorization.

Ianto smiled. “And how does it feel, Agent Johnson, to have just committed treason?”

“What?” her eyes widened, then narrowed. “You’re bluffing.”

“First rule of a blank page is verifying the name is not one that falls under the protection of the crown.”

Johnson’s eyes widened, once again. “That’s up to Home Office, to vet,” she said.

“And MI5 normally double-checks, to cover its arse,” Ianto pointed out. “I wonder why that didn’t happen, this time.” He shrugged. “Not that it matters. We’ll hold you for Her Majesty, I think.”

“We?” Jack spoke up, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

“They,” Ianto corrected. “While _we_ determine what is going on.” He pushed Johnson at Mickey, who caught her and looked to Jack.

“Put her in one of the cells, until we figure this out,” Jack said. “Ianto’s right. That bomb would have taken out the better part of the bay area. No telling how it might have destabilized the rift.”

“Excuse me,” Stark cut in. “Rift?”

“As fun as this has been, boys and girls, this is a Torchwood facility, and SHIELD really isn’t invited to this dance.”

“Jack,” Ianto tried to interrupt.

“Ianto, I appreciate the assist, but this is Torchwood business.”

“You do realize that if we hadn’t stopped her planting that bomb, Torchwood would no longer be _in_ business?”

Jack nodded curtly. “You can see yourselves out.”

Ianto’s eyes narrowed. “You know what this is about. Based on the other names she gave.”

“It’s to do with the aliens, I know that much,” Johnson gave a sniff as Ianto turned to her, surprised that she was volunteering information. She shrugged. “Clearly, I was set up, and there would have been a reckoning with the Queen on the back end of this. I’ll tell you what I know, provided you put in a good word for me with Her Majesty.”

Ianto turned back to Jack. “What do you know about these aliens, Jack?”

“That’s classified,” Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “Eyes only, _Torchwood_.”

Ianto drew in a breath to argue, but then he glanced at Stark, who gave a maniacal grin. “Very well. Good luck, then.” He turned and said, “We’ll see ourselves out.”

Jack dropped his arms, not expecting Ianto to acquiesce so easily. “So why help, then?” he asked, his voice belligerent.

“SHIELD picked up the chatter about the blank page,” Ianto shrugged. “I rather like the Queen, and won’t see her disrespected.”

“You were able to scramble a… pretty impressive team from SHIELD, because you _rather like_ the Queen?” Jack smirked. “Not buying it.”

“Well, we were going to offer our assistance, but given you’re behaving like a toddler, we’ll just freelance the rest of the mission.”

“Stay out of our way,” Jack snarked, all goodwill evaporating, and he knew it was his fault.

“Thought you knew by now,” Ianto said, shooting his cuffs. “I’d never dream of standing in your way, Jack,” he tossed over his shoulder, and even Steve could tell there was some sort of subtext to that grenade, as Jack’s face went a bit slack with surprise.

Stark gave a low whistle and followed Ianto out. The Welshman kissed Martha on the cheek and shook Mickey’s hand, then led his team out through the cogwheel door without a backward glance at the rest of Torchwood.

“Wait!” Gwen called after them as they made their way out of the tourist office and up Mermaid Quay. She caught up to Ianto and gave her most persuasive smile. “How about lunch, so we can get to know your friends better?” She batted her eyes from Steve to Tony, causing one to blush and the other to roll his eyes.

“So sorry, Gwen,” Ianto said stiffly. “Work to do. Perhaps another time. Give my regards to Rhys, will you?”

She jerked her head back as though he had slapped her. “Fine,” she snorted. “Jack and I had _other plans_ , anyway,” she grinned at him maliciously.

“We’ll leave you to it, then,” Ianto gave her his most placid smile and turned on his heel, leaving her looking disappointed that her barb hadn’t hit its mark. She consoled herself that perhaps it had, but Ianto was just too good at concealing it.

“Man, what a fun place,” Tony drawled. “Can’t imagine why you left, Jones.” He clapped Ianto on the shoulder as they walked on. “Now. Where’s a good place to eat, while JARVIS does his thing?”

Ianto led them to a lovely restaurant on the Plass. It had been one of his favorites, but neither Jack nor Gwen ever wanted to go there, for lunch. They were all laughing and enjoying their food when Natasha gave Ianto a subtle kick. He turned to where she was staring and saw Jack there, paying for food for the team. He turned back around without acknowledging the older man, who hesitated just a bit before leaving with the food.

“Thought you said they didn’t like the food here,” Clint said.

“Perhaps I should have said it was never enough that _I_ liked it. Martha and Mickey must have overruled them.”

Tony was watching closely. Jones didn’t give much away. But it wasn’t difficult to suss that there had once been something between Harkness and Jones, and most likely Cooper had come between them. No accounting for taste. Jones was a class act, had negotiated every one of those damned awkward conversations with dignity and grace, while Harkness had behaved exactly as described (toddler) and Cooper… Well. Tony had seen more subtlety at the Playboy mansion.

Given the monster in the basement and Jones’ masterful interrogation, Tony was willing to bet that Torchwood chewed up its operatives and then spit them back out. Workplace romance was probably the only way to score, so he couldn’t hold it against Jones, even if Captain Fantastic was a bit of a… what do the Brits call it?

A knob?

***

Mainframe liked Tony, but not enough to give him much. They resorted to pillaging the Home Office’s system, which led them to everything they needed. It took another day and a half and a pirated video link to both COBRA and Thames House, but by the time Jack stormed in to confront the alien, they knew enough to evacuate the building before all hell broke loose.

Ianto had planted a tracker on Jack when he was dead on the hospital floor, so they knew just where to find him as he began to enact his terrible plan. Widow, Hawkeye, and Cap took down any resistance as he and Tony entered the warehouse. Ianto walked to the platform and plucked Steven from it as Tony set down a relay, in his place.

“What are you doing?” Jack yelled, definitely looking frayed around the edges.

“Saving you from an eternity of regret,” Ianto called back over his shoulder as he carried the boy to his mother.

“It’s the only way to stop them!” Jack argued, looking desperate.

“Well, not the only way, actually,” Tony answered. “Send your signal through that relay. It will mimic the brain structure, tissue resonance, and hormonal balance of a ten year-old kid.”

Jack stared blankly at Tony, then nodded, seeming to snap himself out of his stupor. He sent the signal, and within minutes they received confirmation that the aliens had been destroyed. It took him some moments to realize what had just happened. He had almost killed his own grandson. Most likely, he’d never see him again now, anyway, but that was a small price to pay, to not have to live with killing him.

He stumbled towards the room where Ianto was sitting with Alice and Steven and was almost brought to his knees by what he heard.

***

Ianto grabbed the child. He was concerned that someone would try to stop him, but the others were doing their usual, excellent job of running interference. He carried the kid to his mother, who snatched him up and clung to him until the child protested that he could not breathe.

“The bastard,” she snarled, looking towards the door after several long moments. Ianto heard through his comm that the aliens were gone.

“I won’t try to argue, but I hope someday you can bring yourself to forgive him,” Ianto said quietly. He held up a hand to forestall the growling reply that threatened. “If we had not been working on this as well, there would have been no other way to stop them. Think of it. Tens of millions of children.”

“That doesn’t give him the right,” she said, but Ianto was once again able to silence her. This time, with a gentle hand on her arm.

“No, it doesn’t,” he admitted. “But think about it. Every opportunity to have a personal connection to this planet has been ripped from him. Even had their names changed,” he smiled, and she paled. “With no personal connections, and given his… situation,” he sighed. “He sees himself as a guardian of this planet. And he’s not wrong.”

She nodded, but still looked angry.

“And as guardian of an entire planet?” Ianto nodded. “I can’t even imagine the burden. Knowing the maths is easy. One child, so save millions. With no alternative solution. And not having the connection that would help him overrule the guardian instinct. But having just enough of a connection to know that as good as the maths are, that one child will haunt him, for eternity.”

“Eternity,” she whispered.

“There would have been no other way,” Ianto held her hand. “Please know that he would not have attempted it, had there been another way.”

“But there was!” she exclaimed.

Ianto chuckled. “And it is sheer luck that Tony Stark was around, was able to come up with it, and we were able to get it here, in time.”

She chuckled as well, shaking her head. “Tony Stark. Bloody Iron Man saved the day.”

“Hey,” Ianto said, and she looked up at him. “So did your dad. Stark came up with the relay, not the way to stop the aliens, in the first place.”

She nodded. “I’m still angry.”

“I would never try to talk you out of that. Like I said. Maybe someday. Forgiveness is good for the soul, after all.”

She nodded again, giving him a watery smile. Then she looked up. Her face hardened, but she nodded at Jack, who was standing in the doorway, looking small and less like Captain Jack than she had ever seen him look.

“Time I rounded up my wayward team and got out of here,” Ianto smiled. “Goodbye, Alice. Goodbye, Steven. It was a pleasure to meet you both.” He stood and turned, then squeezed past Jack through the door. “Goodbye, Jack.”

“Ianto,” Jack caught Ianto by the wrist, and Ianto wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry that the old electricity between them didn’t spark. Jack looked a bit surprised as well, and for a moment he couldn’t hide his grief. But when he looked into Ianto’s eyes, the younger man saw something deeper than lust. There was kindness. And gratitude. “Thank you.” He glanced back into the room, making it clear he had overheard Ianto’s gentle defense. “For everything.”

Ianto nodded and, quickly rounding up the team and the tech they’d arrived with, they left, passing Martha, Mickey, and Gwen as they headed for the Quinjet. Tony shook Ianto’s hand and rather loudly proclaimed, “Congratulations, Agent Jones. Homerun!”

Ianto looked startled. Gwen looked like she’d swallowed a lemon. Pretty much everyone else looked amused.

Steve frowned. “Why do I get the feeling I missed something important, here?”

“Well, did you notice that Cooper is a pill?” Natasha asked, and Clint snorted.

“Yeah, I did catch that. But someone did try to blow them up.”

“Notice the others were fine,” Tony added helpfully.

“Enough,” Ianto sighed. “She doesn’t deserve the energy required to dislike her.”

“Fair enough,” Tony shrugged, and Ianto walked onto the Quinjet. “She’s still a pill, though,” he muttered, and the others laughed quietly as they prepared to return to base.

Steve disapproved, but he found he couldn’t disagree.

***

[1] Enough!

[2] Not even close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! Hope you like this CoE fix-it. Not sure I'll ever be able to let it stand, as originally written. I know I kind of just hit the high spots of the plot, so to speak, but I wanted that plotline to be secondary to Ianto's team coming up with a solution that could defeat the 4-5-6 and save Steven. And giving Alice a 'come-to-Jesus' was just icing.
> 
> The next chapter is a nice, long one with more Jack (he's like a bad penny, really) and some Hydra shenanigans. 
> 
> Let me know what you think - keep those comments coming, they really do make my day!


	9. Chapter 9

Four months. It had been four long months since Ianto had embarked on this crusade. Three since making a rather ignominious return to Torchwood, and he was tired of this cloak and dagger crap. And he was over his fascination with James Bond.

Ian Fleming was full of shit.

He was continually gobsmacked by the depth and breadth of the infestation. He had a plan for cleaning house, but he needed to access their primary database in order to ensure there were no holes. He had meticulously collected all of the other secondary databases, and he had carefully coordinated a plan. But the information he was missing would ensure a clean sweep. He could take no chances that any moles would be missed.

He’d found the nine heads of Hydra. Quite literal, they were. As they were with the whole, ‘cut off one head, two will replace it’ nonsense. There were definitely plenty in line to advance, should one fall. But Ianto had a plan. Just like with Heracles’ second labor, it involved cutting off those nine heads, and cauterizing each _before_ they could be replaced.

SHIELD would have to turn itself inward, for a time. Ianto had already composed the message to the outside world. His list of Hydra members was now complete. The last piece he needed was confirmation of where each of the nine heads were going to be at Zero Hour.

His Hydra coworkers were all well pleased with how gloomy Steve Rogers had been, since awakening. Ianto knew that Cap was doing fine. He was allowing his grief to show, which went against his nature, but he’d been reading up on modern psychology and PTSD and everything he could get his hands on by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross.

The poor man had lost absolutely everything. It was natural that he would be devastated. Ianto had started taking him to the park for walks every few days. If he happened to have a signal scrambler in his pocket for each of these walks, well… He could keep SHIELD pacified by saying Rogers needed to trust him, and he could keep Hydra satisfied that he was succeeding in isolating Rogers.

Steve worked out with Clint and Nat almost every day, and even with Tony, on occasion. Other than them, Ianto was the only person he saw. As Hydra closely monitored the workout sessions, and Steve did not appear to be faring well, they were trusting in Ianto’s methods, so far.

During one of their walks, Ianto told Steve about Torchwood One and the Battle of Canary Wharf. He had intercepted the quite frankly amateurish keystroke monitoring software that Hydra had installed on Steve’s computer. From then on, Ianto fed the program innocuous searches, mostly about lost colleagues and how Brooklyn had changed. So Steve was free to surf to his heart’s content. Ianto was not surprised when he found a search on the Battle the day after he told Steve about it.

There wasn’t much, but there were some references. It had felt good to confide in Steve, actually. And now Cap knew that there was someone else out there who knew what it was to lose – if not everything, then near enough. True, Ianto had not lost his place in time, but almost everything else had been torn away, and in the end they shared a quiet understanding of that terrible reality.

A real friendship had grown between them, though they were careful not to allow it to show too clearly. It showed enough that Alexander Pierce himself had asked for a covert meeting so he could congratulate Ianto on his subversion of Captain America.

“He trusts you,” Pierce said, his eyes telling Ianto he wasn’t certain he felt the same. “That’s good. And he seems to be spiraling into some sort of depression, I hear.”

“He has lost a great deal,” Ianto said, picking a piece of imaginary lint from his sleeve. “It’s natural that he should be grieving.”

“Yes, but he doesn’t seem to be acclimating. That is excellent. I wouldn’t be surprised if he became desperate, at some point. Unable to cope, that sort of thing. What kind of timeframe might you see that happening in?”

Ianto paused to consider. “If we were to allow it to happen naturally, I don’t think more than another three or four months, at this rate.”

“Good. Very good. That will fit with our other timelines,” Pierce nodded. He shuffled some papers on his desk, then looked up. “Good work, Jones.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ianto nodded before heading for the door, clearly having been dismissed.

“Oh, and Jones?” Pierce called just as Ianto’s hand touched the doorknob.

“Sir?” Ianto turned back.

“First flight of the helicarrier is at the end of the week. Fury’s out of town, and we’ve arranged that only our people are there, for the maiden voyage. I think you should be there, as well.”

Ianto nodded. “Looking forward to it, sir.”

“You were never on the Valiant, were you?”

Ianto knew that he had died on the Valiant, during the Year. Jack had been forced to tell him so after a particularly brutal nightmare had awakened them both, not long after his return. He had belted Ianto as the younger man had tried to wake him, and the guilt of it had precipitated the uncharacteristic confession.

Now Ianto knew he was being tested. He knew that Hydra had come out in the open during the Year, to support the Master and his mad plan. It was what Jack had let slip. It was how Ianto knew _how_ Hydra still existed. He had been able to determine that no members of Hyrdra were on the Valiant when the paradox machine was destroyed.

So it must be down to their moles in UNIT giving up details. Not about Jack. Mainframe was quite good at squelching any rumors regarding Jack. To Ianto’s knowledge, outside of Torchwood, only the Queen, the Brigadier, Fury, and Coulson were aware of Jack’s… situation. And Ianto’s team, as he had come to consider Romanoff, Barton, Rogers, and even Stark.

So should he admit that he knew about the Year? Or would that make them wonder what else he knew? Or should he play dumb?

Well, nothing for it. Time to be bold.

“Not that I recall, sir.” Ianto’s face gave nothing away, but his words were carefully chosen. He may not remember, but he _knew_.

Pierce quirked an eyebrow, then threw his head back with a laugh. “Oh, I like you, kid. You’ve got balls.” He waved a hand, finally dismissing Ianto, who left, relieved to be away from the man. He might seem decent and respectable, but with his psi training, Ianto could practically feel how oily the man was.

***

So here’s the thing. Jack had explained _how_ Hydra was still around – how it was hiding in plain sight, squatting like a toad within a major organization. (He had failed to mention that the organization in question was SHIELD, or perhaps Ianto’s exit strategy from Torchwood would have looked a bit different.)

But Jack wasn’t the reason Ianto knew that Hydra still existed, in the first place. That honor went to Fergus Kinkaid, one of the head archivists at Torchwood One. Kinkaid had recognized Ianto’s promise. Had mentored him, groomed him. The day before the battle, he offered Ianto a position within Hydra. Ianto told him to go to hell. Kinkaid Retconned Ianto and reported back that he had failed to secure the recruit.

Or at least, he thought he did.

What Fergus didn’t know was that Ianto was immune to lower doses of Retcon. Yvonne had insisted that he build up a tolerance to anything that would affect a day, or less. Anything more was too dangerous for even Torchwood One to contemplate. It had been rolled into the rest of his psi training, and it had been brutal.

But it had worked. He’d been given a dose to make him forget the two-hour lunch in which Fergus had given him the pitch and he’d told Fergus to fuck off. He woke up from a fugue within a quarter hour in the archives and knew enough from his training that he’d been dosed. He triggered himself and was able to intercept Fergus’ report to Hydra, just in time. He had planned to report Fergus to Yvonne the next day, but… Well.

So as far as Hydra knew, Ianto had been given the pitch, but they’d had no clue what his answer had been until Ianto explained it to Sitwell and Rumlow in that broom closet, a bit more than two years, later.

He’d made sure to use small words, so they could keep up.

As far as Hydra knew, he was a Torchwood recruit; it had just taken him a while to be in a position to accept the role, since Fergus had died in the battle. Ianto knew they didn’t fully trust him. He had been working on it for four months, now. But it was slow going, and he was getting tired of playing the game.

So while it came as a bit of a surprise to find that the maiden voyage of the helicarrier was just an excuse for Ianto’s final test, it was also a bit of a relief. That is, until he realized what the test was.

Rumlow and Rollins were holding Jack by either arm, and Kaminsky had Gwen. Ianto’s face remained impassive, but he felt his stomach drop to the ground, however many thousands of feet, below. He knew what the test was, and he quickly began coming up with a plan. Ianto had checked and double-checked all of the files. No one on board the Valiant when time reset from the Year had been a part of Hydra.

It was a stroke of luck, really. But that meant that no one in Hydra knew about Jack. Only Fury, Coulson, and his team, and Ianto had ensured their files were bulletproof as soon as he had begun this mission.

Ianto quirked an eyebrow at Pierce, who strode out onto the deck. “Checking up on my CV, sir?” he deadpanned.

Pierce laughed. “You’re funny,” he said, and he looked at the man on his left, holding out his hand and having a gun placed in it.

Ianto’s eyes strayed to the man, and he almost swallowed his tongue. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. That was the face. Ianto had seen it dozens of times as he’d gone through Steve’s records, and those of the Howling Commandos. But Barnes’ hair was long, and there was an unsettling blankness in his eyes. He gave Ianto a slow blink, like a cat, and Ianto held his gaze for a moment before looking away, having already taken in the details.

Blank eyes. Missing arm, replaced by what could only be a vibranium prosthetic. Red star prominently displayed on said prosthetic. Vacant expression, other than the spark in his eyes that briefly flared when he blinked at Ianto.

Was Barnes still in there, somehow?

He was ill to realize that this was what Hydra members proudly referred to as ‘the Asset’.

This was the Winter Soldier.

Bucky Barnes was the Winter Soldier.

Bloody, fucking hell. His to-do list was already getting out of hand.

Now this.

“As pleased as we are by your progress with Rogers,” Pierce said, and Ianto refocused on the older man and his words, “We felt it appropriate for you to pass one final test before we allow you into our ranks.”

Ianto felt his stomach drop, again, but he knew his mask was firmly in place.

“I’m telling you,” he heard Rumlow whisper to Rollins, “this bastard is ice cold.”

Ianto quirked an eyebrow at Pierce, still holding his gaze.

“I think it only fitting that you show your new loyalties by dissolving your old ones,” Pierce said, handing Ianto the gun.

Ianto checked to be sure a round was chambered and strolled towards Jack. “Let him go,” Ianto said. “As long as we have her, he’ll behave. Isn’t that right, Captain?”

Rumlow and Rollins let go of Jack, and Ianto’s left hand shot out and grabbed the older man by the throat. _I’m sorry, Jack. I’m so sorry! I’ve come too far, and it’s almost done. I’m sorry, but I have to. I’ll do my best to save her, but I have to do this._

Jack’s eyes widened, but it coincided closely enough with Ianto grabbing him by the throat that it went unnoticed. Ianto pushed him towards the edge of the helicarrier before releasing him and reaching into his front shirt pocket to grab the pill he knew Jack always kept on him. Then he stepped back, just a bit. “Give me the coat, Jack.”

“How many times does this make?” Jack asked, taking off his coat and tossing it to Ianto, contempt in every line of his demeanor. “How many times have you betrayed me, now?” _It’s all right. Do what you need to do. Try to save Gwen. But can you tell me why?_

Ianto tried not to jump out of his skin, and then he remembered. Jack wasn’t just a touch telepath, when he could be arsed to use his talents. Then he felt a wave of nausea wash over him as he remembered it all.

Lisa.

The Saviour.

Billis Manger.

Flat Holme.

“I believe this makes five,” Ianto said, his voice cool. He gestured with the gun for Jack to step to the edge of the carrier.

“More fool me, then.”

“Any last requests?”

“Why?”

Ianto raised the gun. “Hail Hydra,” he said, watching Jack’s eyes go wide as he fired.

He continued to watch as Jack’s body turned a slow pirouette before falling from the helicarrier. They were somewhere over Greenland. It would be messy enough that there would be time to find the body before he revived. Ianto put the safety on the pistol and turned back to the others.

“And now for her,” Pierce said, but Ianto shook his head.

“We’re not leaving Torchwood Three to monitor the Cardiff rift without a leader,” he said, standing toe to toe with Pierce. “We just took their leader. We don’t need to take their SIC.”

Pierce raised an eyebrow. “And what do you propose?”

Ianto held up the pill. “Retcon. This dose removes twenty-four hours.”

Pierce looked intrigued. “Or. We can kill her, and we’ll have the formula for Retcon.”

Ianto shook his head. “What part of ‘rift in time and space’ are you not getting? I can get you a sample of Retcon to reverse engineer, if that’s what you want. But this is non-negotiable.”

“Oh, is it?” Pierce looked amused. “You think you’re quick enough?”

“Quick enough to ditch this pill over the side before you shoot us both,” Ianto smirked as Pierce’s eyes widened. “Sir. We need the planet intact, in order to rule it, now don’t we?”

Pierce chuckled heartily. “Fine.” He waved his hand for Ianto to go to Gwen.

Ianto grabbed a bottle of water from Sitwell and stepped up to Gwen. She was eyeing him shrewdly. “You going to make me shove this down your throat, or are you going to cooperate?” he asked her, his voice rough.

She reached out and kicked him, hard, in the shin. He grimaced as everyone laughed, but let it pass. He’d seen it coming, but figured he owed her that one. She opened her mouth, and he placed the pill on her tongue. Then Kaminsky let her go, and Ianto gave her the water.

He placed Jack’s coat around her shoulders. “Something to remember him by,” he smirked.

“Fucking knob,” she spat.

Ianto came suddenly and unexpectedly to the end of his tether and let loose with a stream of Welsh epithets that had her paling. Then he drew in a breath, shot his cuffs, and turned his back on her. He looked at Sitwell. “Can I trust you to get her back to Cardiff, unmolested?”

Sitwell nodded. “Of course.” He stuck out his hand. “Welcome aboard. Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra,” Ianto replied with a smile.

Gwen sagged to the ground, and Ianto nodded in satisfaction. He knew Jasper would keep the others from trying to have any ‘fun’ on the way back to Cardiff.

“Oh, one more thing,” Pierce said, and snapped his finger.

Ianto looked around just in time to see Barnes’ flesh hand flash in a vicious punch that had him seeing stars. Ianto kept his feet under him – really it didn’t even knock him off balance.

“What the fuck!” he shouted, and only just held himself back from attempting to retaliate. He absently noted the surprise that rippled around the deck. Even Barnes raised an eyebrow.

Interesting.

He took a breath and quickly took stock. He assumed he’d be dead if he’d been hit with the vibranium fist. He counted himself lucky as he moved his jaw to check the damage and spat blood where he’d bitten his cheek. His jaw and all teeth seemed to be intact, so he was pleased, insofar as he wasn’t about to take on the Winter Soldier hand to hand, and couldn’t consider killing Barnes.

Not if he could be saved.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t bloody pissed about being sucker punched.

Pierce got in his face, and he had to fight every instinct not to push the man away. His mask held, though. “You killed Harkness, so I’m willing to let your challenging me slide, but that was your free one, Jones. Never question my orders again!” He stepped back, fuming.

“Even if you don’t have all of the pertinent information?” Ianto asked, straightening his tie and quirking an eyebrow at Pierce. He knew he was pushing his luck, but he was bloody _tamping_. He was so done with this day. And his jaw fucking _hurt_. “Sir?” he added, as an obvious afterthought.

Over Pierce’s shoulder, Ianto caught sight of Barnes (and Ianto couldn’t think of him any other way – Asset was abhorrent, and Soldier was out of the question)… Was that a flash of amusement? Ianto saw more than heard him mutter, “Eto drakon,”[1] and gave his own huff of amusement.

Pierce looked like he was about to pummel Ianto, himself. But then he blinked. And laughed. “I always heard that Torchwood recruits were mad, but really.” He chuckled again. “All right. Point taken.” He wagged a finger under Ianto’s nose, and it was all the Welshman could do, not to bite it. Perhaps he _was_ a bit mad. “Don’t cross me again, Jones. If you think you have information I need, then tell me. You defy me, it’ll be a left hook you’ll be facing, not a right cross.”

“Noted,” Ianto replied, his eyes glittering with something that made Pierce uneasy.

“All right. Get this man his codes!” he exclaimed, and the others cheered. Sitwell clapped him on the back, and Rumlow actually gave him a bear hug. It was all a bit much, but Ianto did his best to celebrate with the rest of them.

Pierce called out to one of the Asset’s handlers. “Look him over. We may have to wipe him, again. He’s too engaged.”

Ianto felt his blood boiling for an entirely different reason.

***

[1] It is a dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's Bucky!
> 
> Sorry for Jack's sticky end, but it had to be done. At least he understood why.
> 
> I've messed with the timelines in all three fandoms, waking Steve three years early, having Tony consulting with SHIELD much earlier, even timeframes for references to TYTNW and Stolen Earth being moved. In case anyone cares, this is taking place in October of 2008. Not sure if it matters, this was just how I got everything to sync up.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. Let me know what you think! :)


	10. Chapter 10

That night, Ianto chanced a meeting with Coulson. He left a note using an obscure cipher he knew Phil enjoyed. It said, _Meet me where we once honored a beautiful ‘Ume’._

Ianto was on high alert for the meeting, spending more than an hour ensuring the area was clear. He knew Phil would use every countermeasure available, as well. When they finally met, Phil presented a bottle. They each took a long slug of really good whisky, then Ianto reached out and took hold of Phil’s wrist.

To his credit, Coulson didn’t react the way most people did. Which was impressive, given that SHIELD didn’t believe in psychic phenomena of any sort. Bloody short-sighted, if you were to ask Ianto, but then again, he wouldn’t wish any other agent go through what he did, to force his latent talents to develop. But not developing agents is a different thing to denying the existence of such things, altogether. That is what Ianto objected to, more than anything else.

Willful ignorance jeopardized lives.

Coulson didn’t flinch. He sat very, very still as Ianto gave his first report. He was visibly shaken to find that Hydra still existed, within SHIELD. He looked ill when Ianto began giving names. He made Ianto stop and stood, walked away, and vomited behind a tree some distance away.

Ianto handed him the bottle when he rejoined him on the bench. “So you’re in?”

Ianto nodded. “Passed my final test, today.” He took a long, long pull on the bottle, and Phil eyed him closely.

“What?”

 _Had to kill Jack._ Ianto hung his head. He handed Phil a slip of paper. _He should have landed somewhere near these coordinates. Falling from the helicarrier – it’ll be a while before he revives. Can you…_

“I’ll send Stark,” Phil answered quietly. “It won’t garner as much attention. He knows how to lose a tail, and he’s read in on Harkness’ circumstances.” He hesitated. “Back to Cardiff?”

Ianto shook his head. _They’ll likely watch Gwen until they’re certain she doesn’t remember._ At Phil’s confused expression, he explained that Gwen had been there, and the only way to save her was to Retcon her.

“Jesus,” Phil swiped a hand down his face. “You’ve had a day.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Ianto snorted. At Phil’s raised eyebrows, he shook his head. “Later.” He snorted. _Suffice it to say that Pierce took my refusal to kill Gwen so the rift can be properly monitored as an act of defiance, and he had his… one of his men… belt me._

Phil didn’t pursue the hesitation. He knew that was part of ‘Later’. He shook his head. “I’ll see if Stark has a place that can be used as a safe house, without it getting out.”

Ianto gave Phil the names of Stark’s staff that were Hydra, causing the older man to curse under his breath. He drank again and heaved a sigh. “Where do we even begin?”

_I have a plan._

Phil looked at him incredulously.

_What? Don’t act so surprised. I’ve had months to work it out. Today they brought me fully into the fold, so now I have the codes I need to be sure there are no holes in it._

Phil gave him a lopsided smile. “Any intel you can give us now, so we can start working on this, from our end?”

Ianto shook his head. _Not yet. You’ll have enough on your hands, reading Fury in. I will say that they are very literal, in their structure._

“Cut off one…” Phil whispered, then his eyes widened. “Nine leaders?”

Ianto nodded. _Pull together a list of one hundred people you feel you can trust. I’ll strike through those who are Hydra, and eventually we’ll get to the fifty we’ll need._

“Fifty?”

_Nine five-person teams, four runners, and a coordinator._

“Which is you, I assume.”

 _Not if you don’t want it to be. Besides, I might be useful in providing a distraction…_ He hesitated. _They won’t go easily. And there will be heavy losses, in eradicating them, even with surprise on our side._

Phil nodded. And he acknowledged what Ianto wasn’t saying – if it truly was a full third of SHIELD that was rotten, containment would be difficult. Unless Fury authorized kill orders. Which he likely would, without hesitation, on the nine leaders and, if he was understanding Ianto correctly, the eighteen on deck to step up.

“You’ve gone well beyond ‘Queen and Country’ here, Ianto,” Phil realized his gaff too late, as Ianto gave a violent shudder and jerked away as though he’d been slapped. “Not in the Hartman sense,” he quickly amended, and he saw Ianto attempt to smooth the bristle that still had him trembling. “Sorry, I didn’t meant it that way.”

Ianto gave a jerky nod, then let his head fall back. After a while, he continued. _Steve has been read in since the day he woke up._ He huffed at Coulson’s surprise. _It’s why he’s acting so gloomy. He’ll be ready, when the time comes._ He hesitated again before forging ahead. _If anything happens to me, Tony will receive the cipher within twelve hours. It will unlock everything I’ve gathered and given him so far, including the plan._

Phil’s heart felt heavy at the thought that Ianto didn’t expect to see the other side of this. But he knew no words of denial from him would be a comfort. The only comfort he could provide was the promise. “We’ll see it through.”

Ianto nodded. _Tell my sister…_ he sighed. “Tell her it was worth it.”

Phil gave a jerky nod, and was surprised when Ianto gave a sniff.

_Tell Jack I’m sorry. I… There was no choice._

Phil could see that despite the fact that he knew Harkness would revive, killing the man had still taken a toll on Ianto.

“I’m sure he’ll understand.”

_And how is that not worse?_

Phil nodded, understanding. “You just said you had no choice.”

Ianto swallowed, then shook his head.

“And you saved her,” he pressed on.

_She was quick on her feet. Went along with it, even after seeing what I’d done. For all I dislike her, she handled herself well, today._

“Then get on with it. Wrap this up, all right? And don’t get dead.”

Ianto chuckled, then took another pull. “Good whisky. Thanks for sharing.”

“Try to sleep,” Phil clapped him on the shoulder and made his way out of the park.

***

“Who was that man?” the Soldier asked quietly.

“A comrade,” Pierce answered, giving the Soldier a quizzical look. He had noticed the asset’s strange fixation on Jones. The only reason he wasn’t punishing the asset was because he had hit Jones without hesitation, when ordered.

How Jones took the punch was telling, as well. But that would be for contemplation later, after the asset’s issues were contained.

For his part, the Soldier knew he should keep quiet, or they would wipe him again. Or worse, freeze him. He had been awakened for a specific purpose, and he did not want to be wiped and frozen again, so soon. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to remember.

So he would play along with them. He would not give away what he knew, but he knew the truth. That was no man. That was a drakon, wearing human skin.

It was the eyes, you see. The drakon had recognized him, he could tell. And not the Soldier. _Him._ The drakon hid it well, but the eyes, they could not mask the recognition quickly enough.

He could tell.

So the Soldier had allowed _him_ a moment, where _he_ tried to say hello with a flash of life in _his_ eyes, and a slow blink, like drakons do. The drakon had looked away, but then he had done the most amazing things.

He had spoken without words to the one who was _different._ The Soldier couldn’t say how he was different, he just was. He could tell. Then the drakon had shot the different one, but the Soldier knew that even though the man was dead, he would not always be so.

He could tell.

And then the more amazing thing – the drakon had stood up to Pierce. Had _argued_ with him. Had openly defied him, without a care for the consequences. Not really. Perhaps he was a bezumnyy drakon[[1]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23886163/chapters/57872929/edit#_ftn1). Pierce had made the Soldier punish the drakon, but that had only led to another surprise.

The drakon had almost attacked the Soldier, in retaliation. The drakon was powerful, he could tell, but the Soldier would have easily defeated him, in his human skin. But he had shown his power and his fury, if only for a moment. And then his exquisite control. He had not punished the Soldier, even though he had wanted to.

It was the Soldier’s first taste of something akin to mercy in such a very long time. He did not know how long; he just knew it was a long time.

He could tell.

And then the drakon had continued to defy Pierce, despite the warning. It had been… _funny_. Which was disconcerting, because the Soldier could not properly remember funny. Perhaps it was _him_. _He_ remembered what funny was like, because the drakon showed them.

He nodded slowly to acknowledge Pierce’s words. He was glad that the drakon was his comrade.

He was not certain that the drakon was Pierce’s comrade, but _he_ did not want to tell Pierce that. There had been a time when the Soldier would have disregarded _him_ , but that time was long past. _He_ was the only one who ever helped the Soldier avoid the punishments.

And _he_ was getting stronger.

“I don’t like this reaction,” Pierce said. “Wipe him again.”

It was as painful as ever. But this time, _he_ helped, even during, when _he_ normally ran and hid. Told the Soldier to focus on the blue of the mad drakon’s eyes. So when he came out of it (and he was grateful they did not freeze him, after), he still remembered. Everything was a blank, but he still remembered a mad drakon with blazing blue eyes.

The drakon was going to set the Soldier and _him_ free.

He could tell.

***

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Steve looked skeptical as Ianto handed him a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses.

“No one looks at anyone, over here,” Ianto answered absently as they left Union Station when they arrived in DC and he hailed a taxi to the Smithsonian.

“No,” Steve huffed. “I don’t mean us going to the exhibition, I meant the exhibition, itself. I mean, why?”

“To raise awareness,” Ianto finally looked at Steve, once they settled into the back of the taxi. He glanced at the driver to be sure he wasn’t paying attention. “At some point, the world is going to be made aware that you are back. It would be wise for us to let them have a frame of reference.”

“Because they don’t remember.”

“Not as they should,” Ianto answered. “People have short memories, but that’s okay. We can educate them.”

“Is it stupid stuff?”

“I hope not,” Ianto answered, looking out of the window. “I curated it, myself.”

Steve caught himself staring at the Welshman with his mouth hanging open. He took care to close it before Ianto turned back to him. “Do you sleep?” he asked.

“Sleeping’s for sissies,” Ianto quipped.

Steve laughed, but pressed on. “Seriously, though. When did you…”

“It’s really not that difficult, when you’ve scoured the archives for research and have the tendency to remember every bloody thing,” Ianto deadpanned.

Steve shook his head. He had noticed that, even when Ianto spoke of his abilities, he tended to downplay them to the point where, if you weren’t paying attention, you’d miss out on the significance of his accomplishments.

After they made their way through the exhibit and left the museum, Steve found himself compelled to say, “It was a really good exhibit, Ianto. Thank you.”

And he wasn’t merely being polite. It had been interesting and educational, and fun. Steve was surprised to find his spirits lifted by the trip down memory lane. It was good to remember, even if it hurt.

Ianto smiled at him. “You’re welcome. Just be sure to be overcome with a wave of depressive nostalgia when we return.”

“Right,” Steve huffed. Shouldn’t be difficult. “How much longer?”

“Everything is almost in place. Of the hundred names Coulson gave me, twenty-eight were… untrustworthy.”

“That’s close to what you were estimating. How are you going to share the plan?”

“It will have to be individually. Slowly, so as not to raise suspicions. Luckily, it’s annual review time, starting next week. And protocol calls for them being given in one of the SCIFs, once an agent reaches a certain level of clearance.”

Steve nodded. He turned at Ianto, who was looking weary. “You holding up all right?”

Ianto nodded. “It will be done, soon.”

***

[[1]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23886163/chapters/57872929/edit#_ftnref1) Mad dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer to zero hour, and Hydra won't know what hit them.
> 
> If Bucky's thoughts seemed strange and stilted, then that means I got it right. The Soldier is the one driving the bus, and so there's a rigidity there due to the memory wipes and the limited freedom of thought allowed the Soldier. When he refers to _Him_ , he's referring to Bucky, who's doing his best to break free, but is going to need a bit of help. Hope that makes sense.
> 
> Funny thing. I wasn't intending to call Ianto a dragon, in this. The Soldier just sort of blurted it out, that day on the helicarrier. So I have a feeling Ianto will forever be a 'mad dragon', to Bucky. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


	11. Chapter 11

Something had shifted, he could tell. The Soldier was remembering more and more. The wipes weren’t working, though he was getting really good at pretending they were.

He was beginning to _feel_.

It wasn’t all good. Actually, it wasn’t much good at all, other than the novelty of feeling, again. But now that things were re-engaging, he was remembering more.

 _He_ had a name, as it turned out. _He_ was Bucky Barnes, and he lived in a small corner of the Soldier’s mind. Or the Soldier lived in a large corner of Bucky Barnes’ mind.

He tried not to think on it too much, because it tended to give him a headache.

But it was all wrong, he could tell. There was something dividing the Soldier from Barnes, and it felt all wrong. It hurt. But he couldn’t seem to do anything about the barrier. So for now, they waited.

What was interesting was that Barnes became more clear to the Soldier, each time they encountered the drakon. It was all connected.

He could tell.

***

Ianto covertly briefed Fury, Coulson, Rogers, and Stark, along with Hill, Barton, and Romanoff, in Fury’s office, which was a SCIF. He laid out his plan, and though they had suggestions for refinements, it was largely unassailable. Once each was over the shock of discovering just who they could (and couldn’t) trust, they set to the task of lining up what they needed in order to enact the plan.

It took some doing to cover his tracks, but Ianto managed to get in an order of four dozen photostaic veils, and painstakingly programmed each, pairing them with appropriate apparel and matching them to SHIELD agents whose stature closely matched those they would be impersonating.

“Harkness wants in on the op,” Stark announced after Ianto had walked them through their final preparations. He faced down Ianto’s glare and shrugged. “Not like he’s not invested. We know he’s not Hydra, he’ll actually survive the day, and he has an axe to grind with them.”

“Admit it, Tony,” Ianto gave a wry smile. “He’s been holed up in one of your safe houses for weeks now, and you’re tired of his shit.”

“That too.”

Ianto looked to Fury.

“Your op, your call,” Fury sat back in his chair.

“Well,” Ianto huffed. “He’s a better size match for Rumlow than I am, and that would free me up to go in as me,” he frowned, thinking it through. “Might buy us time.”

“Okay. So that’s Harkness, Rogers, Romanoff, Barton, and Jones,” Coulson made a mental note. “Taking down Pierce and his seconds.”

Ianto sighed. Now or never. “We may need an extra hand or two.” He shook his head as they perked up. “Pierce has what he refers to as ‘the Asset’. I believe there are whispers of him, through the decades, calling him the Winter Soldier.”

Natasha began cursing in Russian.

Ianto nodded. “He’s real. And it’s not a title being passed along from assassin to assassin. It’s the same man.”

“But rumors of the Winter Soldier go back to the late forties,” Fury frowned. “How?”

“They keep him on ice until they have a mission for him.”

“Okay. So we take him out,” Stark said, clapping his hands together.

“We can’t,” Ianto said.

“Oh, I have an awful lot of firepower that says we can,” Tony gave a wicked smile.

“No,” Ianto rubbed his forehead, “we really can’t. He’s a POW.”

The room went strangely silent. Ianto glanced at Steve, and then away. “Turns out Johann Schmidt and Arnim Zola got there, in the end. But they didn’t realize that the instantaneous success of the serum Erskine used on Steve was down to the vita rays. So their formula took a while to build up in the prisoner’s system. It didn’t peak until a year or two later.”

Steve was staring at Ianto as the latter continued, “He was rescued,” another glance at Steve, “and then recaptured, a few months later.”

“Bucky,” Steve looked stricken.

Ianto nodded. “It took them _years_ to break him. And it turns out Zola was doing little side projects on the sly for Hydra, the whole time the SSR and SHIELD had him. One of them was a mind wipe contraption. Another was a cryo chamber.”

“Mind wipe?” they could hear the wood splintering where Steve was clutching the table.

“They bring him out of cryo, give him a bit of brass knuckle indoctrination until he complies, send him on a mission, then wipe his memory before putting him back on ice.” He glanced around the table. “I’ve seen the file, so I know more than you just what he’s done, through the years. What he’s been forced to do.”

“Technically, he’s a war criminal,” Natasha said coolly.

“No sour grapes from you,” Ianto chided. “Just because he handed you your arse a few years back, that’s no excuse to lose sight of the fact that he was tortured, brainwashed, and forced to do these things, against his will. For sixty-three years.” He shot his cuffs. “We’re getting him out, and we’re going to help him.”

“Damn straight,” Steve said, looking defiantly around the table for someone to challenge them.

“On your head be it,” Fury said, sighing and trying to figure out just when he started taking orders again, rather than giving them. He was actually rather pleased, all things considered. Sure, he was about to lose almost thirty percent of his organization, but in all honesty it had become too cumbersome. Time to streamline and get back to basics.

And Jones had proved himself to be an even greater asset than Coulson had anticipated. He shuddered to think how Hydra would have asserted themselves, had Jones not rumbled them.

“And if he can’t be helped?” Natasha asked.

“Barnes is still in there,” Ianto said. His empathic abilities had shut down a long time ago (the battle had almost killed him, and Lisa’s death short-circuited what was left), but he’d felt it slowly coming back since before he’d even left Cardiff. It had helped him navigate this awful undercover mission, so his mixed feelings tended to sway more towards gratitude than dread, at the moment.

Steve looked at him with raw hope, but Hill raised an eyebrow. “How could you possibly know that?”

Ianto shrugged, unwilling to say. That had been one good thing about Torchwood – it was easier to openly use and speak of psychic abilities. As it was, only three people in the room knew about his touch telepathy – Steve, Phil, and presumably because Phil knew, Fury. He had enough to contend with, without having to deal with scoffing from the others.

“You know what you know?” Fury was eyeing him.

Ianto remembered his onboarding, and knew Fury had worked it out. Fury knew about Torchwood’s psi division, which made SHIELD’s stance of denial even more confusing. It’s not like SHIELD was above exploiting people’s gifts, after all.

Something to quietly tighten up, once Hydra was gone.

Ianto sighed. “It’s hard to explain. The Soldier is in control, but… it’s like Barnes is… dreaming. Through the Soldier.”

“What?” Clint was trying really hard to follow, but Ianto had lost him.

Ianto rubbed his face. “They took Sergeant Barnes and – I’m sorry, Steve – what they tried to do, what they _think_ they accomplished – was to gut him. They think that what’s left is just a shell. The Soldier. He follows orders, fights, kills, steals, does whatever they program him to do, because they’ve taken away his choice. He has the ability to function and reason so he can fight effectively, but they’ve numbed out whatever would make him feel.”

“They’ve stolen his humanity,” Coulson shook his head, angry.

“Cybermen have nothing on Hydra,” Ianto muttered, his expression turning dark with anger and bad memories. “Barnes alone is all the justification I need to take them down as hard as I can manage.” The others stared at him, surprised. After a moment he gave himself a shake, and his expression cleared.

“The thing is, though… They didn’t quite get it right. They didn’t eradicate Barnes. He’s still in there, locked away in some part of his mind, screaming to get out. Fully aware of what the rest of him has been forced to do. He’s all but given up on being freed, so he’s like those prisoners of war that you read about – the ones that only stayed sane by dreaming of other things.”

“So he sees everything the Soldier does,” Barton said, the thought not settling comfortably, “and…”

“Either watches it for entertainment or stores away the images he sees to fuel his dreams.” He sighed. “Pretty sure he just turns his back on the nightmare stuff.”

“You’ve seen him,” Steve said.

Ianto nodded. “A few times, now. I recognized his face from curating the Smithsonian exhibit. After I got access to their files, I plowed through everything they had on him.”

“And you’ve seen him enough to be certain Barnes is still in there somewhere?” Coulson really wanted to believe Ianto.

“He’s showing some emotion and independent thought. Since it tends to piss Pierce off, I’m guessing it’s not his normal or expected behavior. I think that’s Barnes, peeking through.”

“The Soldier is not just going to surrender to us,” Natasha broke in, her voice hard.

“I’m not going to let you put him down, like a rabid dog,” Ianto’s temper flared.

“Even if that might be what’s best?” she asked, her voice softening. “What if that’s the only kind or merciful thing left to be done?”

“I have a plan,” he replied, taking a calming breath.

“Like you did, with Lisa?”

“That’s enough, Agent Romanoff!” Phil exclaimed.

Ianto went so still so quickly it was as though all of the air had been sucked out of the room. His face became an impassive mask, though his eyes glittered dangerously. “I’m not certain what you think you know,” he said, his voice so bland it made Natasha’s skin crawl, “but I assure you, this is not the same thing.”

“How do you know?” she pushed.

“Because I didn’t know that Lisa couldn’t be helped. But I do know what needs to be done, to help Barnes.”

“If you think there’s even a chance of helping Bucky, we have to try,” Steve declared. “I’m with you.”

Ianto nodded at Steve and took a deep breath before releasing it slowly. “Agent Romanoff, if you would like to be assigned to a different team, I understand. I know it’s a lot to ask, that you trust me – on this plan, as well as with regards to Barnes. So if you can’t, I need to know right now, or this won’t work.”

Natasha blanched. “You are talking about two completely different things, bratishka,” she said heatedly. “Of course I trust you, and your plan is as tight as something like it is going to get. And it’s not that I don’t believe you about Barnes. I’m just concerned that you’ve convinced yourself that you’ve seen something that isn’t there.”

Ianto faced her directly and looked her in the eye. “Sixty-three years,” he said, and she blinked, first. “I’m not given to flights of fancy, nor do I tend to project my wishes onto situations. I know what I know, but even if that weren’t the case, he deserves the chance to see if he can be free. Don’t you think?”

She looked away first, and Fury fought the impulse to pull out his calendar and mark the day. She nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I’m with you.”

“Good,” Ianto smiled, but it was a brittle thing. He looked around the table. “So let’s go through it again.”

***

The Soldier gave his head a shake. Wow. It had been more than six and a half decades since he had felt _that_.

Attraction.

The drakon looked a bit startled, but then his smile changed to something soft and sweet, while no one was looking.

He was beaten soundly that night for his lack of focus.

But he and Barnes agreed it had been worth it, for that smile.

***

In the end, Fury issued kill orders on the STRIKE team and the three tiers of leaders. In addition, he gave authorization for the use of deadly force, should the remaining Hydra agents fail to surrender peacefully. It did not sit easily with anyone, but SHIELD did not have the capacity to imprison everyone, and the penalty for the leaders’ treachery would be death, anyway. Due process would suffer, but in the end the membership rolls proved to be both a blessing and a burden.

The plan was deceptively simple. First they would take out the STRIKE team, as the leaders tended to use team members for their personal dirty work. All part of the service, apparently. One was assigned to each leader, besides Pierce, who had two. Since they were the best fighters, and wild cards as to when or whether they would be with the leaders, it seemed prudent to eliminate them, first.

Each of the ten STRIKE team members would then be replaced by a loyal SHIELD agent wearing a photostatic veil to disguise themselves as that person, and they would then accompany a team assigned to take out the corresponding leader.

The first target for each team would be the leader’s third, who would be replaced by a disguised SHIELD agent. Then the second would be drawn in, taken down, and replaced. Finally the leader.

And so there would be no heads to replace the one lopped off.

Once the top tiers were taken down, they would move on the rest, as well as release footage to appropriate authorities (and over the deep web) of every Hydra figure outside of SHIELD, declaring their allegiance to Hydra.

Every major alphabet agency, as well as Congress, had been infiltrated. International agencies (like UNIT) and governmental bodies had not been immune, either. But nor would they be saved. All members of Hydra would be outed, in one fell swoop.

Tony had gleefully volunteered to take care of that bit. “It’s their own fault, allowing themselves to be caught on camera doing that whole, ‘Hail Hydra’ thing.”

“Can’t tell you how sick I am of it,” Ianto groaned.

“Almost there,” Steve clapped him on the shoulder.

“We get through this, and there’s a spa package in Snowdonia with my name on it, and a month or two of sleep,” Ianto gave a tired smile.

“I thought sleep was for sissies,” Steve gave him a lopsided grin, and everyone could see he was in a much better state than anyone had previously thought. There had been a lot of fairly public concern (read: gossip and speculation) about the state of Captain America’s mental health.

“Not anymore,” Ianto said, and for a moment, they could see his weariness.

“There’s a Stark jet ready to take you anywhere you want to go, kiddo,” Stark said. He was as worried as the rest, but it’d probably spook them all (and maybe even jinx them) if he let them know it. “But why Snowdonia?”

“I miss Wales,” Ianto shrugged. “But if I never see Cardiff again, it’ll be too soon.”

“I hear the Brecon Beacons are nice, this time of year,” Clint was grinning evilly.

“Don’t make me thump ya,” Ianto glared, but he couldn’t sustain it. The joke had broken some of the tension in the room, even if not everyone knew the history behind it.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go --- next chapter is zero hour. 
> 
> As a reminder, bratishka means little brother.
> 
> Hope you liked this one. I'm trying to show Bucky slowly coming back online as the Soldier's more rigid thought patterns soften and they share space. Hope it's not too clumsy.
> 
> Thanks for reading - let me know what you think!


	12. Chapter 12

On the day, they lost four agents in taking down the STRIKE team, with three more injured, but they were ultimately successful. By afternoon, they moved on the three tiers of leaders. As they moved into position to challenge Pierce, six heads had been cut off. The seventh and eighth were in process.

Fury was coordinating and gave them an update as they headed into Pierce’s offices. Jack was disguised as Rumlow, and Steve as Rollins. They were relying on Widow and Hawkeye to take down and replace Pierce’s second and third.

“Where the hell have you two been?” Pierce snapped at Jack and Steve as they entered the office. “We have a delivery.” He turned and saw Ianto. “Ah, Jones. Someone for you to meet."

Ianto almost flinched. But he didn’t. He felt more than saw ‘Rumlow’ shift, slightly, as well.

“Eye Candy,” John Hart purred. “What a surprise. Thought you’d still be attached to Jack’s teat.” He smirked. “Or cock.”

Ianto sent up a silent prayer that he’d given Jack something to suppress his pheromones, paranoid about the Soldier’s enhanced senses. It had been a last minute addition to the plan, when Steve started looking around and saying, “What is that _smell_?”

Ianto had found that he was finally unaffected by Jack’s pheromones, himself. It gave him a pang of loneliness that was as breathtaking as it was unexpected. As sad as it was liberating.

He was finally, truly free of Torchwood and Jack.

He was truly alone, now.

He sneered at Hart. “What the hell are you still doing on planet, Hart?” That’s it. Come out, guns blazing. Try to keep Hart on the back foot until Barton and Romanoff arrived.

“No need to get testy.”

“The last time I saw you, half of Cardiff went up in flames and I lost two of my best friends,” Ianto said, his voice dangerously smooth. He unbuttoned his jacket, to make his pistol easier to reach. “And to be clear, I do blame you for everything that happened, that day.”

“No personal vendettas in my offices,” Pierce said, pleased to see the cool Welshman spark so angrily. There was something worrisome about the man. He wanted to see Jones off balance. He was suddenly very pleased that Hart had reached out.

“What are you doing here?” Ianto demanded.

Hart looked to Pierce and shrugged. “Came across some items I thought old Alex here would appreciate.”

Ianto quirked an eyebrow. It was almost worth running into Hart, to see Pierce’s expression at being called ‘Alex’. “I heard you were working the black market in the London underground,” his eyes narrowed, and he saw Rumlow shift again, not having been apprised of that particular tidbit. “Find something interesting?”

Hart grinned and opened the carrying case he had set on Pierce’s desk. “Sontaran disruptors,” he waved a hand at the case proudly, showing a dozen of the nasty weapons.

“Christ, Hart,” Ianto muttered, walking over to the case and dismantling each one.

“What are you doing?” Pierce frowned.

“Did this twat mention that Sontaran disruptors are highly volatile when fully assembled and powered up?”

“But they look so damned sexy, all lit up in the case, don’t they?” Hart grinned unrepentantly.

“Twat.”

“Seriously, though. You left Jack?”

“I left Torchwood,” Ianto replied. “Had a better offer that I’d left on the table for far too long.”

“ _You_ were a Hydra recruit?” Hart laughed, then sobered. “Wait. Seriously?”

“I was never just a tea boy,” Ianto straightened, having finished taking all of the disruptors apart. They’d never work, now. “If Torchwood Three thought me thus, then it was fine by me to let them think it.”

“Well, well, well,” Hart seemed to be reassessing Ianto.

Whatever.

“And as for Harkness,” Pierce said, and Ianto fought to keep his façade in place, “ _he_ was Jones’ final test.” He smiled, and Hart’s eyes narrowed. “Killed him three weeks ago.”

Hart burst out laughing. “And did Jones share with you that Harkness can’t die?”

Pierce pulled a weapon before anyone else could blink. It was rather impressive, really. Rumlow and Rollins followed suit a beat behind him. Movement caught Ianto’s eye, and he saw the Soldier standing in the shadows, as well.

“Explain,” Pierce snarled.

Ianto leaned against Pierce’s desk, feigning a relaxed stance. Hart canted his head, not understanding the younger man’s composure, but turned on by it, nonetheless. This wasn’t the boy from Torchwood Three.

This was another creature, entirely.

“He traveled with the Doctor,” Ianto said, a raised an eyebrow getting a nod from Pierce that the older man knew of the Time Lord. “Something or other happened, and he _can_ die, actually. It’s the staying dead bit he had trouble with.”

“Had?” Hart asked.

“And you didn’t tell us this because?” Pierce’s complexion seemed to be going for puce.

Ianto shrugged. “Wanted to shoot him. Torchwood One experimented plenty, so there would have been nothing gained from keeping him. Plus, the fall from the helicarrier meant he stayed dead until I found him, a few hours later.”

Hart’s eyes had gone wide. So now the man was a sociopath, as well? That was…

_That was hot._

“Found him?” Pierce sputtered.

“Well, yeah. Couldn’t have him reviving and going to Fury, now could I?”

“You just said he can’t stay dead,” Pierce pointed out. The gun was beginning to lower.

“Wellllll,” Ianto stuck his hands in his pockets, completely unconcerned. He felt the Soldier’s eyes on him, more than the others. And then he realized. It wasn’t the Soldier’s attention he felt.

It was Bucky’s.

His lip twitched, and he knew he looked like some mad thing, but he decided to go with it. It was worth it for the expression on Hart’s face.

And Rumlow’s.

“I kind of worked it out, see.”

“Worked what out?” Hart sounded strange. Ah. He must actually care about Jack, at least a little bit. He looked worried.

Bless.

“All those years, disposing of bodies for Torchwood Three? You think it wasn’t a bit of a brain teaser, for me? A puzzle, to be worked out?” He smiled again. “How to keep an immortal dead…”

“You’re fucking mental!”

“I’m afraid it was all a bit much for Jack. He just… came to pieces,” Ianto smiled madly as Hart actually blanched. “The right half of his body is buried in the salt flats in Utah. Or is it the left?” He paused and looked up. “No, it’s the right. And the left is in the depths of one of Hitler’s old salt mines. His head is in a Judoon containment unit, heading for the Shadow Proclamation. And his heart? You’ll love this,” he chuckled.

He was laying it on thick, and he knew it. But he was actually having a bit of fun, for the first time in all these months of sickening stress. He grinned again. “I drove a railroad spike through it and shoved in the bottom of Gwen Cooper’s deep freeze.” He chuckled. “Right under the rump roast.”

Hart actually winced. Rumlow was staring with his mouth hanging open. It took him a moment to remember Gwen didn’t have a deep freeze, but still. He was glad Ianto had a more forgiving soul than his undercover persona.

Finally, Jack saw the humor and began to laugh. It sounded strange, coming out in Rumlow’s voice. Rollins chuckled, as well, shaking his head. He looked slightly rattled, but he had gotten to know Ianto well enough to realize that this was part of the game.

Pierce finally joined in. “You are one crazy sonofabitch, you know that?” He put his gun away, and waved at the others to follow suit.

Hart was still staring.

In the next moment, Pierce’s second, Harriet Marsden walked in.

Then things went a bit off script.

***

The Soldier was surprised when the three men entered the office. Surprised because two of them were not who they looked like. Rumlow was too tall, Rollins was too short… But then he saw the mad drakon, and he got sidetracked, because he _felt_ something. Barnes was excited to see the drakon, and the Soldier couldn’t disagree. There was something… fascinating about him. And interesting things always happened, whenever he showed up.

Then he realized – Rumlow was the man that Jones had killed but not killed. He had died and yet was not dead, and now he was here – Rumlow, but not Rumlow. He knew he should say something. His punishment would be severe for holding his tongue, but he was just too curious.

He was pleased that the drakon did not like Hart any better than he did. The man was…

 _Oily_ , Barnes supplied.

Yes.

That was precisely the word.

He watched as long, elegant fingers dismantled the weapons Pierce had just paid millions for. He also saw each small power supply pack palmed and secreted somewhere about the drakon’s person. Millions of dollars’ worth of paperweights, now.

Bucky huffed in amusement, which translated to a soft smile on the Soldier’s lips.

He enjoyed the tale the drakon was spinning almost as much as he enjoyed the reactions of those listening. He thought it was funny, because the mad drakon was poking fun at not-Rumlow, horrifying Mr. Oily, and amusing and worrying not-Rollins, by turns. Pierce was buying it all, mostly because the drakon was using Hart to sell it.

It was masterful.

The Soldier was _so_ going to get a beating, for allowing this to continue. He knew the only reason Pierce’s guard was down was because he had not reacted.

But it would be worth it, he could tell.

Then in walked Harriet Marsden, and she was not Harriet Marsden. The Soldier blinked. He really should put a stop to this. Then he caught the drakon’s eye.

“Harriet?” Pierce was surprised to see her. Of course he was. She was not meant to come to the office, today.

The drakon gave the Soldier a slow, deliberate blink, and then an inscrutable smile. Well, the Soldier found it inscrutable. Bucky was practically salivating.

“Came to give you an update,” not-Harriet said.

The Soldier monitored his heart rate, which had accelerated, a bit.

“Update?” Pierce frowned.

Could it be true?

Could the drakon be here to free the Soldier? To free Bucky? To let them be one again, not torn down the middle…

Not-Harriet powered up the tablet in her hand and turned it around so he could see a video of Senator Stern whispering “Hail, Hydra” into Jasper Sitwell’s ear.

“What is this?” Pierce looked from the screen to not-Harriet. “Where did this come from?”

“It was just released to every major news outlet in the country, and the deep web has been flooded by this and hundreds of other videos, just like it. We’ve been outed,” she said.

“Well, I think that’s my cue,” Hart said. “Alex, pleasure doing business with you. Eye Candy,” he raked his eyes up Ianto and back down again, “don’t be a stranger.”

It was all the Soldier could do, not to growl at the man, but he was gone before anyone could stop him – not that anyone wanted to, as far as he could discern.

“How the hell has this happened?” Pierce demanded. He headed around his desk, but not-Harriet stayed him with a hand on his arm.

“You got played,” she gave him a lopsided grin that looked strange and out of place on her face.

Mostly because it wasn’t actually her face, the Soldier reminded himself. He knew he should say something, but the drakon had smiled at him, as though to say it was all right. And the drakon had shown him mercy.

Pierce had never shown him kindness or mercy.

“Nobody plays me,” Pierce growled. “Heads will roll for this, but we can recover. Get the others on the line.”

“Sorry, no can do,” not-Harriet replied, holding the tablet against her chest like a clipboard.

“What are you talking about?”

Whatever was happening, the drakon was not pleased. He was staring hard at not-Harriet, who was very deliberately _not_ looking at him.

“He needs to know before we take him down, Ianto,” she said, tapping something along her hairline before peeling off the photostatic veil.

It was Agent Romanoff, as the Soldier had suspected.

“What the hell is going on?” Pierce asked, his hand creeping inside his jacket before hers shot out and pulled the weapon from its holster and held it out of reach.

“Don’t just stand there!” Pierce shouted at Rumlow and Rollins, who chose that moment to take off their veils, as well.

The Soldier blinked. Not-Rollins looked… familiar.

“I know you,” he said quietly, staring at Steve Rogers like he was trying to work out a puzzle.

“Of course you know him. He’s your mission. Kill him! Kill them all!” Pierce ordered, and the Soldier felt his blood begin to rise. He wasn’t certain he could defy the order.

“Stoy, Soldat!” the drakon commanded, his voice powerful.[1] The Soldier paused, unwilling to defy the drakon.

“I will tear that arm off and fucking end you!” Pierce was practically foaming. The Soldier watched him, fascinated. But then Pierce pulled something from his pocket.

 _No_.

The pain that shot through his head was extraordinary. Barnes ran for cover. The Soldier blanked and began moving towards Romanoff, knowing it was the only way to stop the pain.

“Bucky,” not-Rollins, the familiar one, was suddenly standing between the Soldier and his target. He swung his right arm and hit the man, but he did not fall.

Interesting.

Someone whistled, and a large round disc flew into the room. The man caught it.

“Bucky, it’s me!” he said, his voice pleading.

The Soldier frowned. He reached out with his left arm to strike the man, but instead he hit… the shield.

It was a shield. Vibranium, if he wasn’t mistaken. And Bucky felt his teeth rattle, at the impact.

_Ow._

“Steve,” the drakon called, and motioned with his head.

The next thing the Soldier knew, he was being tackled through the glass wall to the conference room, beyond.

***

[1] Stand down, Soldier!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's zero hour! They're not done yet, but hope you like how it's going, so far. 
> 
> I'm kind of happy with how this one turned out - let me know your thoughts!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading - kudo and comment, if you're enjoying! :)


	13. Chapter 13

Ianto strode towards Pierce. “Hand it over,” he held out his hand.

“It was you,” Pierce said, realization dawning.

“Hydra will be dismantled before the week is out,” Ianto said.

“You fool! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

“Actually, I do,” Ianto said. “See, a man from the future once told me that Hydra would be eradicated from SHIELD. And I believed him.” He smiled. “And then one day I realized, it was _me_ that had to figure out how to do it.”

Pierce hit a different button on the device in his hand, and the room was flooded with security. Romanoff and Harkness were suddenly very busy fighting the dozen men. Jones stayed with Pierce, though. He grabbed for the device even as he used his stun gun on the nearest guard.

“I will kill you, myself,” Pierce growled, pulling a knife even as Jones struggled to wrench the device from the older man’s hand.

Ianto saw the strike coming, but could only twist his body to try to minimize the damage. He felt the knife sink into his side even as Pierce stiffened, then went slack, an arrow through his heart. Ianto turned to where Clint was standing and nodded his thanks before running for the conference room, where Steve was looking a bit worse for wear.

Steve was refusing to fight, doing what he could to just block the Soldier’s attacks. “You know me!”

“No I don’t!” The Soldier slammed his fist into Steve. He was completely off balance, the device causing pain at a level that would send him mad, if he did not complete his mission.

“Bucky. You’ve known me your whole life.”

More pummeling, and Ianto began powering down the device in his hands. Then he sat down in one of the corners and closed his eyes.

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Shut up!” Now he was just lashing out. The Soldier was disorientated, and Bucky was confused.

_Something was happening._

For the first time since the Battle of Canary Wharf, Ianto opened his mind and deliberately reached out. He gasped at the power he felt – it was more intense than he remembered. He gathered all of his strength and focused on the Soldier.

The man’s mind was fragmented. It was a minefield of pain and loneliness, loss and despair. Ianto accepted the danger of what he was about to do with a shrug, surprised he’d made it this far, anyway.

He dove in.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Steve said, dropping his shield. “You’re my friend.”

“You’re my mission,” the Soldier snarled, tackling Steve to the ground and hitting him repeatedly, punctuating each word with another brutal punch. “You’re… My… Mission…”

He pulled back to punch Steve again and gasped as he felt something shift, in his head. He looked down at Steve, wild-eyed.

“Then finish it,” Steve said, punch-drunk, “’cause I’m with you, to the end of the line.”

 _Bucky_ looked down at his best friend, who he had just beaten half to death. His eyes were wide and wild, filled with terror and horror and confusion. The wall he had been imprisoned behind was gone. The numb blankness of the Soldier was flooded by almost seven decades of Bucky’s humanity. He screamed and staggered back, holding his head. Barely able to stay upright, he ran.

He ran, but he was pursued. He knew all of the secret passageways, and soon he was in a safe place. But he was followed by a presence in his mind. A calming presence that, once he was still, he realized was trying to help him.

“Drakon!” he cried out, then fainted.

Ianto stayed with him. He had pulled down the barrier that had split Barnes’ personality in two, and now he did what he could to begin the reintegration of Bucky and the Soldier. The latter was a part of Barnes, now. He could not be removed, but he could be integrated.

It was painstaking, exhausting work, and Ianto knew he’d been too long gone from his own body. But he stayed, because he couldn’t make that kind of mess and then just leave Barnes to deal with it. He hadn’t expected the Soldier to bolt. Perhaps if Pierce hadn’t used that damned torture device on him, Ianto could have kept him calm, kept him from running.

But run he had, and Ianto had taken a huge risk in following. His previous efforts had clearly had an effect – just some small nudges, but the barrier imprisoning Barnes had come down so easily, it had overwhelmed and panicked the Soldier. Ianto had to help begin the integration of the two, to keep the man safe. Especially since he couldn’t tell where Barnes was. Likely, he was in the wind until (if) he was ready to come in from the cold.

The least Ianto could do was to help begin to make him whole, again.

***

Jack Harkness gasped back to life, realizing just how rusty he was when it came to hand-to-hand fighting with something other than a Weevil. He looked around and saw Barton and Romanoff finishing off the last of the security team. He staggered to his feet and headed for the board room, which was far too quiet, considering there’d been at least three men in there, at last count, two of them brawling.

He was shocked to see Steve Rogers laid out on the floor like he was waiting for it to stop spinning. Given the glassy look in his eyes, he probably was. He’d been pummeled, and no mistake. Jack kept looking around and noticed that Barnes was gone. Then he spotted Ianto in the corner.

“Ianto?”

He approached the younger man slowly. Ianto’s breathing was fast and shallow, and his eyes were unnervingly vacant. He was bleeding, a knife still buried in his side. As Jack watched, Ianto gasped for another breath and blood began trickling from his nose.

“Ianto!” he shouted. Then he turned his head. “In here!”

Jack fell to his knees beside Ianto, pulling him from where he was propped in the corner and gently laying him down on the floor. In the next moment Romanoff was on Ianto’s other side, making short work of Ianto’s jacket, waistcoat, shirt and vest. Jack realized she had a blade of her own, and had very efficiently cut Ianto’s clothes from around the wound in his right side.

“Where’s the kit?” she asked over her shoulder. She looked back at Ianto. “This is a weird reaction. It looks like shock, but…”

Jack frowned and took a closer look at Ianto. He reached out and ran a hand over the younger man’s head, but jerked back as though burned, just as Clint ran in with the first aid kit.

“Nat, what the hell were you thinking?” Clint asked, his voice angry.

“Not now,” she growled.

Jack looked at Clint. “Don’t suppose you intercepted a shifty blonde idiot carrying a katana?”

“All crazy eyes and cheekbones?” Clint asked, and Jack nodded. “As it happens, yeah. Got him tied up in the stairwell.”

“Bring him in here,” Jack said, and Natasha looked at him, frowning. “Quickly!”

“Ianto called him a twat,” Steve slurred helpfully, still not moving.

They could hear Hart bitching long before they saw him. “I don’t want anything to do with any coups, thank you very much. I… bloody hell! You took out Pierce? He was one of my best customers!”

“John, shut up and get your arse in here,” Jack shouted as soon as his former partner came into view.

Hart’s eyes widened. “You!” Then he looked at Jack’s clothes. “You were here, all along? In disguise?”

“Yes, me. Get over here and help. Our psi training was more recent for you than it was, for me.”

John frowned and dropped down above Ianto’s head, running a hand over it as he settled onto his knees. He hissed and pulled his hand back. “You’re right. He’s in psychic shock. Pretty severe, by the feel of it. And…” he reached out again, drawing his hand back, just as quickly as the first time. “He’s journeying.”

“What does that mean?” Clint asked.

“Psychic what?” Natasha frowned. “Stop being ridiculous,” she huffed, and shone a light in Ianto’s eyes, worried when his pupils didn’t respond. “Ianto, can you hear me?”

“No, honey, he can’t,” John said, doing his best not to sneer at the terrifying woman. “His mind has exited. Depending on how strong he is, he could be miles away.”

“What?” she looked confused.

John rolled his eyes. He didn’t have the patience to explain it. He wrapped his mind in as many layers of protection as he could manage and steeled himself. Then he gently cradled Ianto’s head in his hands. For a moment, all he could do was see, and revel in what he was seeing.

“Jack,” he breathed, looking at his former partner with wide eyes. “You remember that empath the Time Agency brought in as a model for us to study so we could learn structure and shielding?”

Jack nodded, a wistful smile on his lips. “I never realized a mind could be beautiful, before meeting zir.”

John reached out and took Jack’s hand, placing it under Ianto’s head. “Look,” he said, his voice full of wonder.

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, slowly drawing his hand away as he looked at John, shocked.

“You didn’t know?” John asked.

“I knew what T1 did to him, but…”

“Wait. You two knock off whatever the hell it is you’re doing, and tell us what’s going on,” Natasha growled. She had taken the knife from Ianto’s side and treated the wound with an antiseptic, antibiotic, analgesic foam bandage that had stopped the bleeding. She had also attached a portable heart rate monitor. She reached out with some gauze to clean the blood from Ianto’s face as she made it perfectly clear she would cause great pain to both of them without a second thought.

“See if you can find some blankets,” John said, all business, now. “Grab a couple of cushions from the sofa in there to elevate his legs, and bring a pillow for his head.”

“We need to get him to medical,” Natasha tried to argue.

“Not until he’s stable,” Hart said, hoping she’d be reasonable.

Clint got up from where he had been giving Steve some water and headed for the office. He came back with the requested items, and they all helped to arrange Ianto so his body could more easily weather the shock it was undergoing.

“Why is he so cold?” Clint asked.

“We’ll explain it all, but I think you owe us an answer, first,” Jack said, eyeing Natasha. “It was all going to plan, and everything was in hand, until you went off script. Why?”

She sighed. “Fury called an audible. He wanted us to stall so he could come confront Pierce, himself. He decided that he wanted someone to stand trial, after all.” She shook her head. “Ianto had turned off his comm so he could focus on the op, so…” She reached out and took the younger man’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” Fury said from the doorway. Coulson, Hill, and Stark were with him. “Sit rep.”

“All clear. The Soldier ran after he did a number on Rogers, but other than being a little punch-drunk, Cap seems to be recovering. Pierce stabbed Jones, and he seems to be in shock,” Natasha said.

Hart snorted. “Keeping your people in the dark isn’t helpful, Winky.” At Fury’s raised eyebrow, he added, “They don’t ‘believe’ in psychic abilities,” in his snark he found himself using air quotes, “so they have no clue how to deal with psychic shock or injuries.”

“Can I get another blanket?” Jack asked, his voice worried. “It’s been too long,” he muttered to John.

Fury sighed. “There’s a gag order on the agency. In place for the lifetime of Peggy Carter.”

Jack frowned. “Why?”

“She ran a joint op with _Torchwood_ in the late forties,” he said, his voice full of irony. “Saw what their so-called psi ops teams could do, how the abilities could destroy someone,” he frowned down at Ianto. “She swore SHIELD wouldn’t become that. I’ve tried to lift the policy – to at least allow acknowledgement of the existence of these phenomena, but I haven’t been able to get it overturned.”

“I never knew Peggy to be unreasonable,” Jack said, frowning.

“The Torchwood operative’s name was Greenway,” Fury said, and Jack winced.

“Okay, that would have been enough to make anyone unreasonable,” he muttered, remembering all too well how the man had – quite literally – pulled himself and his team apart. It had been a bloodbath of body parts and gore, and it had been entirely preventable, as Greenway should not have been cleared for duty.

“Still short-sighted,” Hart muttered. “This lot was trying to treat traditional shock.”

“How is this different?” Coulson asked, kneeling next to Widow, next to Ianto’s right leg. He reached out to touch Ianto’s lower leg, but Hart reached out and smacked away everyone’s hands.

“Unless you have been trained in psychic shielding, keep your hands to yourself,” he said. “This isn’t about responsiveness, because his mind’s gone walkabout. Probably went charging after that terrifying pet of Pierce’s.” _Now_ he understood what he had been sensing between the Soldier and Eye Candy – some sort of empathic link.

“How can you tell?” Fury asked.

“Wait. Back up. What’s this about psychic whatsist?” Clint asked.

Hart looked to Jack. “If you know the story, it might be helpful. Because from what I just saw, he’s more than five centuries ahead of his time.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, the plot thickens. :D
> 
> I know, I know - I've used the 'crazy eyes and cheekbones' line before, but maybe that'll just be a thing in any of my fics when Hart shows up...
> 
> Besides, it's true. Though Hart is sort of evolving, in this fic. Strange, because I've never been much of a fan.
> 
> Next up, we find out what T1 did to Ianto. And what they didn't get a chance to do.
> 
> Thanks for reading - Let me know what you think!


	14. Chapter 14

Jack looked at Fury, who gave him a nod. Everyone in the room would eventually be read in anyway, if this was going where he thought it was.

Jack looked down at Ianto. “He’s going to kill me for this. He’s really private, you know.” He sighed. “Torchwood One tested all of its recruits for various aptitudes. Ianto’s scores were, across the board from IQ to psychic potential, off the charts.” He gave a chuckle as he remembered the file Ianto had planted for Toshiko to find.

_Able student, but not exceptional._

Christ, but they’d been thick. Anyone who could hold their own in a discussion of mathematics and quantum theory with Toshiko Sato was exceptional. He gave himself a shake and continued.

“But T1 didn’t just put your test scores in a file and assign you a desk,” he grimaced. “Anyone whose test scores were above average, particularly in psychic potential, got assigned to their psi program.”

“And given Torchwood’s reputation, even centuries later,” Hart murmured, “I’m betting it wasn’t a training program.”

“Afraid not. It was a series of… experiences,” Jack grimaced again, “designed to force any latent potentialities to present. The higher someone’s aptitude during the initial scoring, the more likely they were to survive.”

“Survive?” Clint’s eyes grew wide.

“Only twenty percent of the recruits who entered the T1 psi program lived. A bit more than a quarter of the ‘survivors’ spent the rest of their lives staring vacantly and drooling onto their hospital gowns.” He huffed. Ianto was one of the few who came out of the program with his life and his wits intact.

“The program had a fourteen percent success rate, and yet Hartman kept it running for the half-decade leading up to when the Tower fell. She bragged that their results were at least ten generations ahead.” He shook his head. “Ianto once told me that it was Yvonne who introduced him to Lisa. I found Yvonne’s files on them, after… everything.”

He looked disgusted. “Lisa was another survivor of the psi program. Yvonne had already set up a eugenics project, to study any offspring Ianto and Lisa produced.” He stared down at Ianto’s face. “I never had the heart to tell him. It would have been just one more thing, Torchwood even taking away his what-if’s.”

“What-if’s?” Fury asked.

“He thinks he and Lisa would have had a happy, normal marriage, if not for the Daleks and Cybermen. But Torchwood One would never have allowed it. Their children would have become lab rats to advance the eugenics project.” He shook his head sadly.

“When Lisa died, Ianto gave up the idea of any of that. Marriage. Family. Happy future. But he held onto the what-ifs and could-have-beens. If Lisa had lived, their marriage, their children, their family. Telling him about the project would have robbed him of those bittersweet fantasies.”

“Torchwood doesn’t sound like a very nice place,” Tony said, crossing his arms.

Jack looked at him. “Torchwood One _wasn’t_ a very nice place. Thankfully, it crumbled under the weight of its own arrogance. I’ve done my best to build Torchwood Three to be something the Doctor can be proud of. We don’t kill aliens on sight, unless they are openly hostile. We don’t rob them. We help them, if we can.”

Tony nodded, somewhat appeased, though he wasn’t sure who the Doctor was.

“What kind of experiences?” Natasha asked, frowning. “What did they do, to force the psychic potentialities?”

“Locked in a confined space for extended periods, sleep deprivation, subjected to extreme heat, extreme cold, constant noise…” Jack closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. “He told me they buried him alive, at least once. Beatings, electrocution, waterboarding, being hung, bound, upside down, starvation, dehydration, gaslighting,” he shook his head. “There’s more, but…”

He shook his head again. “I had pulled Three away from One because of their practices, well before the psi program was established. I don’t know that there was anything I could have done, had I known about it, but…”

“It was a voluntary program,” Fury pointed out.

“I mentioned gaslighting, didn’t I? At what point does ‘consent to continue’ become questionable? Before, or after they bury you alive? Does Stockholm Syndrome become a form of coercion, when the person who buried you alive is also the person to pull you out of the earth and clean you up and take care of you, after?”

Jack huffed. “And it didn’t stop there. He told me that once he was through the program, Yvonne went on to add various other ‘training’ programs to his job requirements. Spycraft. Espionage. Retcon immunity.”

He looked down at his former partner, struck once again by his strength. “It may have been more subtly done, but Torchwood weaponized Ianto, in much the same way Hydra weaponized Barnes.”

“Given that, I imagine he was rabid to help this Barnes guy,” Hart was staring at Ianto, as well. Yeah, the man was pretty, but he’d had no idea he was such a badass. And his mind… it was fucking gorgeous! Hart thought he’d never seen anything as beautiful as the model at the Time Agency, but zir beauty and power was completely eclipsed by Ianto’s. But something wasn’t adding up. Ten generations… that would only be about three hundred years. Where was the other two hundred years’ worth of advancement he was seeing coming from?

“What sorts of potentialities were unlocked, for Ianto?” Coulson asked.

“I saw telepathy and empathy,” Hart said. He looked at Jack.

“That’s all Ianto ever mentioned. For what _that’s_ worth,” he chuckled. “He always told me that it felt like the battle had burned everything out, though.”

“Probably short-circuited it, for a while,” Hart nodded. “Maybe only came back online, recently.”

Coulson nodded. “I got that impression, when he explained it to me.”

“He told you?” Jack seemed surprised. He’d have bet that Ianto would have been reluctant to share these things with SHIELD.

“Had to,” a small smiled played across Coulson’s lips. “It was the only safe way to communicate."

“Okay, so telepathy confirmed,” Hart nodded.

“Touch telepathy,” Steve clarified, turning onto his side and reaching for Ianto.

John smacked his hand away. “Okay, look. No touching, all right? Since he’s in shock, his defenses are down. It’s going to be a shitstorm when he comes back to himself anyway, because journeying is hard on the body and mind, even for a powerful and skilled empath. Eye Candy’s definitely powerful, but I doubt there’s been anyone in this century to teach him, so… Let’s try to not make this even harder on him, yeah?”

“Understood,” Steve drew his hand back. “Sorry.”

“So he read you in, as well?” Jack asked.

“He had to. The day I woke up…” Steve flopped back onto his back with a groan. “Hydra did their best to fuck with my head, right outa the gate,” he said, and Tony made a tiny noise in the back of his throat at hearing Cap curse. “Ianto was being watched, but he managed to make it look like he was comforting me, in my grief. He explained it all.” He waved a hand, “Torchwood, telepathy, SHIELD, Hydra, his plan to take care of it...”

“He had a plan, even then?” Coulson asked.

Jack chuckled.

“He’d already managed to get a foot in the door. Not sure he’d done much more at that point than figure out a way to keep me safe from them and get further in.”

“So what is touch telepathy?” Clint asked.

“Pretty much how it sounds. Telepathy, but there has to be a physical connection, for it to work,” Jack explained.

“ _That’s_ why he was holding your hand in your office the other day!” Clint exclaimed, pointing to Coulson. It had been a strange and awkward moment, actually, when Clint had barged into Coulson’s office without knocking, first.

“You know of anyone who can train him?” Hart asked Jack. “He’s got the chops for full-on telepathy.” He paused as Jack looked thoughtful. “And his empathy is sophisticated enough to form links,” he added.

“Oh,” Jack said, his eyes wide as he realized, “He was trying to free Barnes from where he’d been locked away in the Soldier’s mind!”

Hart nodded. “That would make sense.” He frowned. “I wonder if Eye Candy even realized he was doing it?”

“Well he did _this_ on purpose,” Jack pointed out.

“Did what?” Natasha asked, getting tired of the side conversation that left everyone else out.

“Okay, so every time Ianto has met the Soldier, he’s probably just sort of reached out, tried to see if Barnes was still in there,” Jack said.

“He told us Barnes was definitely still in there,” Coulson confirmed.

“Which would also explain why the Soldier didn’t attack when Ianto told him to stand down,” Jack said. “If those barriers were weakening, Barnes had probably figured out that it was because of Ianto.”

“He was remembering,” Steve said quietly, and the others looked at him. He was still flat on his back, but looking a bit less concussed. “When he was hitting me. I could tell he was remembering. He was angry and confused and…” he shook his head.

“What?”

“Terrified.”

Hart nodded. “Previous contact had probably weakened the barriers, so they came down more easily than Ianto expected. I imagine after all these years, it was as terrifying as it will be welcome, once Barnes acclimates.”

“But he’ll be a mess, if someone doesn’t hold him steady, help him to reintegrate,” Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose. “And since Ianto realized he’d made this mess, he chased after Barnes, to help clean it up.”

“But he doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Hart surmised. “He’s doing everything by instinct. When Barnes took off, he just… ripped himself away, to follow.” He huffed. “That’s going to take a while to heal.” He decided to leave the rest of that thought – the _‘if he manages to return’_ thought – unsaid.

“So you’re saying that his consciousness is with Barnes now, and…” Natasha’s eyes strayed to Ianto’s body, which was clearly experiencing a degree of distress.

“Journeying doesn’t normally cause a body to go into psychic shock. But he’s had no training. He just tore out of here, and his body’s trying to maintain, until he returns. Has he journeyed before?” Hart asked Jack.

Jack shook his head. “This is the first I’ve known about anything besides the telepathy and empathy that got swamped in the battle.” His eyes got wide. “Oh, gods.”

“What?”

“You said it,” Jack looked at Hart, looking almost panicked. “You said… you wondered if he even realized…” he ran a hand through his hair.

“Yeah?” Hart frowned.

“What if he didn’t get swamped during the battle? What if the battle was the next _experience_? It tore him apart, and it took him years to heal, but when he did…”

Hart winced. Well, that would explain the other two hundred years’ worth of potentialities that had been released. “Yeah. That makes sense. He heals up enough for the touch telepathy to come back online. The empathy’s probably been coming back gradually for longer. But using both more for this op,” he nodded. “That would help the rest of it start to expand, as well.”

“His empathy,” Jack had paled, considerably. “He never mentioned being able to form links. He just talked about the vagaries I’ve always associated with low-level empathy. But he’s always been very instinctual. Oh, gods,” he ran a hand down his face.

“Pull it together and tell me what you’re saying,” Hart said, knowing not to reach out to Jack, in this moment. The immortal was seriously rattled.

“The Year,” Jack said, speaking quickly. “There was a mad Time Lord, and he built a paradox machine and took over the world, for a whole year. The Year That Never Was, because we managed to break the paradox, and time reverted. But he held us prisoner, for a year. He…” he looked at Hart, his eyes full of pain. “He was more imaginative than I was, in my heyday. See, you can do more, if you’re not worried about killing the one you’re torturing.”

“Jack,” Hart said, but Jack kept speaking.

“He hunted down my team. He couldn’t find them. Until he did. They all died quickly, except for Ianto.” Jack shuddered. “He was angry, wanted to punish Ianto, for resisting. What he did… what if that opened up even more of Ianto’s potentialities?”

“Could have, but wouldn’t it have been undone, when the paradox ended?”

“Would it? If it’s psychic pathways we’re talking about, more than physical ones, and the Year ran in close enough parallel to this timeline…”

Hart nodded. “Okay, but why does that have you so rattled?”

“When I saw the Doctor last, he said he was surprised at how well I was. That he had expected the psychic damage from the Year to have taken centuries, to heal.”

“But it had only been…”

“Seven months, give or take.” Jack choked back a sob. “Oh, gods. All those nightmares he soothed away. All those times he took care of me, when all I could do was sit and stare. It was him, wasn’t it?”

Hart reached out and, at Jack’s nod of permission, placed his hand at the back of Jack’s head and closed his eyes. He could detect no damage to indicate that Jack had endured a year of torture, a mere year-and-a-half, before. He pulled his hand away and nodded. “At a guess. I can’t imagine what else could explain it.”

For some reason, it was _this_ that brought home the full weight of what Jack had lost, when Ianto had walked out. What Jack had thrown away, when he deceived Ianto, giving him so little of the respect the younger man so richly deserved (and so very badly _needed_ ). “He healed me, by instinct, and only because he cared,” Jack whispered.

“Pity all you gave him in return was sloppy seconds,” Clint muttered, watching Ianto closely.

Jack flinched. Clint wasn’t wrong. Jack thought back to all the times Ianto just seemed to _know_ what everyone needed. From Myfanwy and the dark chocolate to every coffee and pastry craving the team ever had. He’d always known just what to say to make any of them feel better, just what to do to soothe a situation. It was only when the situation applied to himself that he had difficulty smoothing things over.

All the hallmarks of a fairly powerful empath.

Gods, Jack felt so stupid.

He’d been so blind.

“Something’s happening,” Clint said.

“Shit,” John muttered. “All right. Jack and I will set up a sort of perimeter – two meters around him?” he looked at Jack, who nodded, still looking shaken. “Everyone get outside of that perimeter.” He looked around. “Anyone here able to…” how to explain? “Look, it’s like quieting your mind, and not letting anything in or, more relevantly here, out. Anyone here think they can present a blank canvas to Eye Candy?”

Clint raised a hand. “I do that all the time.”

“You’re the archer, right?”

Clint nodded.

“Okay, that might just do. It’s going to be painful until he settles back in. Hold him steady, and when you’re able to speak with him, tell him that Jack and I are shielding him, and see if he’ll give permission for us to help him rebuild his defenses.”

“Got it,” Clint nodded and knelt beside his friend.

He took Ianto’s hand and, in the next moment, the short, shallow pants of breath ceased. For a long half minute, Ianto did not breathe, at all. Then he drew in a long, gasping breath and began flailing. He cried out in pain, reaching for his head.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Jack is now realizing just what he owes Ianto. Just what he has lost. He'll have another realization or two, before heading back to Cardiff.
> 
> Hope this made sense. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	15. Chapter 15

Clint did all he could to keep his mind blank, even as Ianto arched off the floor, letting out a terrifying scream before turning on his side and curling into the fetal position. His thighs pressed to his chest, and his head pressed against his knees as he clutched at it and cried out, again. Clint turned wide eyes to Hart, who told him to just let Ianto know he was there, let him ride out the initial shock of the return.

Clint let go of Ianto’s hand and managed to pry Ianto apart enough to press his right hand to Ianto’s chest and his left hand to the back of his neck, trying to anchor him. “C’mon, man, try to breathe. Just breathe. You gotta ride this out. You’re gonna be okay, but you’ve got to breathe, Ianto.”

Ianto focused first on Clint’s touch, then his voice, and then his own breathing. He began to calm, but the pain was still breathtaking. After some time, however, it began to ease. He wasn’t certain how he knew, but he could tell he had done some damage. And he knew just as surely that it would take time to heal. He hoped he could afford to take that time.

“Did we do it?” he rasped, as soon as he was able to speak.

Clint chuckled. “Yeah, Ianto. We did it. All of the leaders are gone, as well as their seconds, and their thirds. Hill and Fury are here. Once we get you sorted, I’m sure they’ll give you an update.” He looked at Hart and Jack, who were standing there, looking very focused. “Harkness and Hart are shielding you. They’ve offered to help you rebuild your shielding, but only if you consent.”

“Consent? That’s new,” Ianto groused, and Jack winced. “Give me a minute,” he breathed, then went quiet and still.

Ianto took a few moments to take stock. He realized that in his haste to follow Bucky, he’d shredded his own defenses. He also realized that he was not strong enough at the moment to rebuild his shields, by himself. The pain was too great – the psychic pain, as well as the physical pain and blood loss. He really didn’t want help from Jack or John, but at the moment he couldn’t afford to refuse it.

“Okay,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “But stay close?”

“Of course,” Clint said, realizing how uncomfortable Ianto was, relying on two men he didn’t completely trust. “Just say the word, and I’ll shoot either of them, okay?”

A small smile teased one corner of Ianto’s lips. “’kay.”

It didn’t take long, at all. Jack and John were surprised at how effortlessly Ianto’s shields re-established themselves. But then they realized. Someone had taught him this much. And he had been diligent enough in his practices that establishing and maintaining his shielding had become second nature to him.

But perhaps ‘effortless’ was not the right word. It took minimal effort on the part of the two former Time Agents, but it clearly drained what was left of Ianto’s reserves. Clint moved him back onto his back, with his legs elevated. The wound in his side had pulled open when he had returned to himself, so Clint patched him up as Jack and John worked with him on his shielding.

Once they had him stabilized, Tony and Clint went to retrieve a stretcher. They would take him back to headquarters, themselves. While they waited, Fury and Hill came and sat beside him, giving him an update on the operation.

It could only be called a resounding success. Trusted agents had been sent after the most dangerous of Hydra’s members. Coulson had been sorry about Garrett and his protégé, Ward, but they had made their choices. There were many similar stories. Sitwell and a few others were being held.

An example _would_ be made.

As soon as the membership rolls had been released onto the deep web, there had been a variety of responses. Some tried to flee. Some were allowed to do so. They would be chased down, eventually. Some tried to fight. But they found that they had been maneuvered into positions where the loyal agents around them had a tactical advantage. So they either surrendered, or they fought and died where they stood.

Some tried to bluff, of course, but there was ample documentation against each and every member. Hydra’s records had been alarmingly meticulous. (Ianto had a great appreciation for that.)

“You did good,” Fury said, watching over the younger man as he fought to stay conscious. This was one of his youngest agents, and clearly one of the most capable. He’d had misgivings when Phil put Ianto forward as the handler for the new initiative, but now Fury had no doubts.

He understood – perhaps better than most – the truth of Harkness’ declaration that Torchwood One had made Jones into an Asset of similar value to Barnes. What had been done to both men was reprehensible, and Fury had no intention to use either (assuming they could even reacquire Barnes) in such a way. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t offer them both positions within the new Initiative and give them the opportunity to _choose_ to do what they did best, for a worthy cause.

“Thank you, sir,” Ianto was flagging.

“Get some rest, Jones,” Fury patted him on the shoulder. “You’ve certainly earned it.”

Jones was unconscious by the time the stretcher arrived.

***

He drifted for a long while. There was a sensation of floating as he dreamt of fragments, like the pieces of his mother’s broken stoneware serving bowl that had shattered across the floor of the flat in Cardiff that he’d fled.

Jewel-bright eyes, bright like sapphires.

Dark hair.

Cleft chin.

American accent.

No greatcoat, though.

He did love that coat.

Pity…

(Or not, given the hassles that came with the bloody coat.)

Toshiko had told him about kintsugi, the art of repairing broken pottery by using precious metals to hold the pieces together. How something, in its brokenness, could be made more beautiful in its mending – _because_ of its so-called flaws, rather than despite them.

His mother’s bowl, carefully mended. The pieces held together by vibranium.

A soft voice, calling him a mad dragon, in Russian.

The slightest glint of humor, impossible to conceal.

Something beautiful, pieced together.

Ianto had given something of himself, in the mending, though he was under no illusions that there was anything treasurable about him. The result would be delicate and fragile, until healed. But ultimately, it would be strong and stable. It was already safe enough to release.

Though Ianto had once more put himself in a position of not wanting to let go…

There is something innately intimate about sharing someone’s mindspace.

Ianto missed intimacy. Connection. Taking care of someone.

He’d long since given up on being taken care of, hadn’t expected or even hoped for it since his age was in the single digits. But he could not quieten the longing he felt for it.

He felt utterly alone…

But he dreamt of jewel-bright eyes, bright like sapphires, giving a slow blink.

Like dragons do.

***

It took several days for Ianto to waken. He had gone into the op mentally and emotionally exhausted from the stress of maintaining the cover, but then the op itself, and his attempt at helping Sergeant Barnes, had drained his few remaining resources.

As he slowly returned to consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the wish to retreat again. The fatigue was almost overwhelming. He had never experienced anything quite like it, before. But it was soon eclipsed by the clawing pain, as well as the distinct impression of being a bit _fuzzy_ around the edges.

“You’re awake!” Natasha exclaimed, but quietened at his wince. “How are you feeling?” she asked, reaching for a pitcher of water and pouring it into a cup.

“Tired,” Ianto croaked, then gratefully drank from the straw she held for him. He let his head fall back onto the pillow and almost drifted off again, worn out just from the small effort of taking a few sips of water. “What’s wrong with me?” he gasped as his hand found his side, which seemed to hurt more than the rest of him.

“Easy, there. Pierce stabbed you.” She frowned. “What do you remember?”

Ianto closed his eyes and tried to overcome the fuzzy. He almost fell back to sleep.

“Ianto?”

“Hmm?” he opened his eyes. “Sorry. It’s fuzzy, but pretty sure I remember everything,” he said, his words slurring from fatigue. “Jus’ tired.” He frowned. “And ever’thing hurts.”

“What hurts?” Jack asked, from Ianto’s left.

Ianto’s entire body jolted with the force of his startle response. He grabbed his side and gasped, curling forward in the bed. “Bloody hell, Jack!” he growled in pain and embarrassment.

“Sorry,” Jack looked so abashed that even Natasha refrained from glaring at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. But what hurts?”

Ianto gasped for another breath and tried to relax back into the bed. Natasha and Jack helped ease him back against the pillow that John Hart had busily fluffed.

 _Weird_.

“I’ll get the doctor,” Natasha murmured. She ran a hand through Ianto’s hair as he nodded.

“Do you know what happened?” Hart asked.

“We think you chased after Barnes,” Jack added, to clarify.

Ianto nodded.

“Were you able to help him, or should SHIELD be out looking for a puddle of Winter Soldier goo?” Hart asked.

“He’s fine,” Ianto muttered, looking up as Natasha re-entered, along with Clint, Steve, and one of SHIELD’s physicians. He missed the looks of consternation shared by Jack and John.

“Do you know where he is?” Steve asked, then looked embarrassed. “Sorry. How are you feeling?”

“Tired.”

“What is your pain level?” the doctor asked, checking Ianto’s IV and the various readings on the equipment. Ianto looked around the room and found it to be far less antiseptic and more comfortable than a normal hospital room.

Another wave of fuzziness washed over him, and he closed his eyes again. He felt Jack give his hand a gentle squeeze, to help ground him so he could answer the question. “Six?”

“Are you asking me or telling me, Mr. Jones?” the Doctor gently prodded.

“Can’t…” Ianto frowned. “My side is a four. But there’s this… scratchy feeling. Like my skin has been shredded. It hurts,” he shrugged.

“Will pain meds help with that?” the doctor asked, looking from Jack to John.

Jack shrugged, and John smirked, saying, “Can’t hurt.”

“Don’t… want… drugs,” Ianto began trying to sit up to argue, but Natasha’s hand on his shoulder stayed him. He began to grow more agitated. “Please. No.”

“Be calm, bratishka,” she said, taking his hand and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “We’ll watch over you.”

“I… But there must be a million more important things to do,” he protested.

“There is a lot going on, but Coulson, Hill, and Fury are overseeing it. They don’t need Clint, Steve, or me, right now.”

Ianto looked like he wanted to argue, but she leaned back so she could look him in the eye and give him a piercing glare.

“You are going to rest, and we are going to watch over you. Got it?”

Ianto slumped. Whether in fatigue, relief, or resignation, it was difficult to tell, but there was a small smile on his lips as he whispered, “Got it.”

As the doctor administered a painkiller, Jack boggled. He understood yet again how little they (he) had bothered to learn about Ianto. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be fussed over or taken care of; it was that he practically had to be bullied into it. He needed to know that taking care of him wasn’t taking someone from something ‘more’ important. He needed to be shown that in some cases, there was nothing more important.

It felt like a kick in the teeth.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit shorter, but I'm particularly pleased about how the part where he was drifting turned out.
> 
> And, of course, more realizations for Jack.
> 
> Would love to know what you think!
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	16. Chapter 16

“So what do you remember, Eye Candy?” Hart broke across the moment.

Ianto glared, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to put anything behind it. Natasha gave him more water, and he spoke, “Pierce’s device activated a neuro-chip that Hydra had implanted. Sergeant Barnes had been conditioned to know that the pain would stop, once his mission was complete. He tried to fight it, but the pain was too much.”

“And you got the device and disabled it.”

Ianto nodded, closing his eyes. “There was a self-destruct mechanism, in case of frequency interference. I disabled the device and destroyed the neuro-chip. But he was disorientated.”

“You tried to nudge in,” Hart prompted.

Ianto nodded again. _So tired_. “The barriers that had been in place every time I checked on him had become really… squishy. I barely touched them, and…” he sighed and turned to Steve. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t expect them to fall so easily, and then he panicked, and I couldn’t get a handle quickly enough to get him to stop hurting you.”

“Hey,” Steve sat on the end of the bed and put a hand on Ianto’s shin, giving his leg a gentle shake. “I’m fine. I know there’s not an exact science to what you were doing, and I know you were trying to help him.”

Ianto nodded, then gave a sniff. Natasha gave him more water, so he could have a moment to compose himself. “He panicked and ran, and I knew I couldn’t chase after him,” he gestured vaguely to his side, “but I knew I couldn’t leave him like that. He was a mess. And then the next thing I knew, I was chasing after him, anyway.”

He flinched at the memory. It had been a monumental effort, and perhaps it could be said that he had panicked, as well, but tearing his mind from his body had felt like being fed head-first though a paper shredder.

“Where did he go?” Steve asked, and Ianto could tell he was poised to run from the room to find his friend as soon as Ianto gave an answer.

He slumped, hating to let Steve (and Barnes) down. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, it doesn’t work that way. I was sort of piggy-backed on his consciousness. I only saw what was going on in his head. I don’t know where he went, only that he passed out when he got there.”

Hart frowned. “And you were able to stay with him?”

“It was _really_ difficult, but I managed to hold on. But it was actually easier to start cleaning things up, with them unconscious.”

“Them?” Steve frowned.

Ianto sighed. “Hydra thought they had eradicated Barnes’ consciousness, leaving only an empty vessel. Into that vessel they poured the Soldier. The training, the tactical abilities, the focus on mission…” he looked at Steve, who nodded his understanding. “But what they actually did was shove Barnes behind a sort of wall.” He pointed at the bathroom door. “Like they shoved Barnes in there and the rest of the room was for the Soldier.”

Steve slumped. “Bucky.”

“I’d guess that Barnes had been working away at the door – there was a crack, or I’d not have seen him, that first day. And for some reason, each time I reached out to him, the crack was a little wider.” He shook his head. “Or maybe more accurately, the door was a little thinner.” He sniffed. “It was like tissue paper, when I poked at it. But once it was down, all of Barnes’… _self…_ came bursting through the opening.” He leaned his head back, needing to rest a moment.

“And Barnes and the Soldier were in the same space, for the first time,” Hart nodded. “Two distinct entities at first, so ‘them’.”

“So what did you have to do?” Steve asked, perplexed. “I mean, wasn’t it a good thing, that the two… aspects of Bucky… were in the same place? Wasn’t that the goal?”

“Not all at once,” Ianto forced his eyes open. “It was violent and painful for him. He sort of… shattered. Everything was all… fragmented,” Ianto shrugged as they stared at him. “Took a while to put it all back together again.”

Hart’s eyes grew huge. “You what?”

“How did you… keep the fragments together?” Jack asked, frowning. It was an abstraction of a strange process, but the metaphor worked. He’d heard of such a thing, and knew it _could_ work, but there was usually some sort of medication that was needed to bind everything together, until it healed.

Ianto shook his head. “Blood, I think?”

Hart frowned. “You weren’t in your body,” he reminded.

“I know, but it’s too abstract, so it helps to visualize things. I,” he lifted his left hand and curled his fingers before flexing them. “I cut my hand, and used the blood to bind the fragments.”

“Blood…” Hart swallowed and pushed Jack out of the way. He held up a hand so Ianto could see his intention. “May I?”

Ianto shrugged. He felt John pressing against his consciousness and tensed. Natasha tightened her grip on his hand and he forced himself to relax, to let John see.

John leaned back, his eyes still strangely large. “You,” he blinked and backed away, knowing Ianto didn’t want him in his personal space. “You…” he swallowed.

“What?” Steve asked, looking concerned.

Hart was till staring at Ianto. “Your telepathy is gone.”

“What?” Jack looked startled. “What do you mean, ‘gone’?”

“That was the ‘blood’. He sacrificed that ability – used the energy of it, to… to glue Barnes back together.”

“Is it gone?” Natasha asked, frowning. “Permanently?” She chastised that part of her brain that pointed out it was a good thing the op was finished, now.

“Hard to say,” Hart said. “There’s a lot of inflammation from everything that happened. It may heal. Or it may just be gone. But then he may manage to recover it from Barnes, someday.” He shrugged. “Can’t tell.”

“And what about his recovery?” Natasha asked.

John shrugged and spoke to Ianto. “I imagine it’ll take a good four to six weeks for the fatigue and emotional impact to subside. The physical bit should start getting better within a week or two, as you settle back into your body.”

He turned to Jack. “Do you know of anyone on the planet in this timezone who can help, after that? He needs proper training so he doesn’t accidentally tear himself apart, again.” He didn’t add that Eye Candy probably wouldn’t survive a repeat performance.

Jack frowned. “Maybe. I’ll make some calls.”

“You sacrificed one of your gifts, to help Bucky?” Steve said, looking like he was going to weep.

“’salright, Steve,” Ianto gave him a gentle smile. “My choice. No regrets.”

“You sure?” Natasha asked Ianto.

He gave her a lopsided smile. “It’s fine. Not like I used it much, before this. Know I can live without it.”

“You knew what you were doing,” Hart blinked again. He’d be hard pressed to give up something like that, for a stranger. No, that wasn’t true. No way in hell he’d do that. Still. Didn’t mean he couldn’t respect Eye Candy, for doing it.

Ianto shrugged again.

“And you… fixed him?” Steve was struggling to understand what this meant for his friend.

Ianto had closed his eyes, but he gave a weary nod. “It’ll take him some time to heal, but he’s together enough that Barnes and the Soldier were already beginning to integrate, by the time I left him. And he’ll be able to function. I think,” he shook his head as he was overcome with another wave of fatigue and fuzziness.

He took a deep breath and forced his eyes open to look at Steve, whose concern for his friend was palpable (he just didn’t realize that Steve’s concern was for more than one friend, and one of them was right in front of him). “I think he’ll be okay, with time.”

Steve surged forward and hugged Ianto, who gave a strange sort of squawk, but was otherwise undamaged, since the painkillers had kicked in.

Natasha gave him more water, and within a few moments, he was asleep.

***

The next time he woke, Natasha was curled up asleep at the foot of the bed like a cat, and he couldn’t feel either leg below the knee.

“You’re an idiot,” Jack said, his voice amused. “You know that, right?”

Ianto leaned his head back and sighed. “I didn’t go looking for them.”

“But you knew they were there.” Not a question.

Ianto looked at Jack, and saw that John was diligently taking a quiz in an old _Cosmopolitan_ magazine in a chair in the corner. “How do you figure?”

“I remember telling you about Hydra bowing to the Master. At the time, it didn’t really strike me. But you didn’t ask me what Hydra was.”

Ianto shrugged and told him about Fergus Kinkaid, the T1 Archivist who had tried to recruit Ianto the day before the Tower fell.

“What made you turn him down?” Jack asked, curious. Ianto’s profile was a Hydra dream – disenfranchised, abused youth with abandonment issues and off the charts intelligence. The only thing really missing was latent psychopathy or anger management issues.

“Kinkaid was a bully,” Ianto answered. “And his pitch left me with the abiding impression that that’s all Hydra was, in the end. Just a bunch of bullies.”

“And you don’t like bullies,” Jack smiled fondly.

“I fucking _hate_ bullies,” Ianto corrected.

“You knew they were embedded in SHIELD?”

“No. Fergus only said that they existed in every major organization that mattered. I hadn’t even thought of it in years, other than what you told me.”

“What made you figure it out?”

“It was like an itch I couldn’t quite get to, whenever any of them were around. All of these disparate agents who had no reason to know one another or hang out together. But they all flocked to the coffee machine.”

“Naturally,” Jack smiled.

“And they all knew each other, much better than they should have.”

“And?” Jack frowned. That couldn’t be all.

Ianto shrugged again. “They were all bullies.”

Jack chuckled. “Okay. But how did you make the leap from suspicious bullies to Hydra?”

Ianto shrugged again. “Like I said, it was mostly just an itch. But then they tried to torpedo Steve, when he first woke up.”

“And you put two and two together.”

Ianto nodded. He looked awkward, for a moment. “I’m sorry I shot you.”

“I know. But I’m glad you did,” Jack shrugged. “You saved Gwen, and preserved your cover. Then you let me take part in the takedown.” He patted the younger man on the shoulder. “We’re square, Ianto.”

Ianto nodded. “Thanks for helping me,” he pointed vaguely at his temple.

Jack smiled. “Any time.” Now it was Jack who looked awkward. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Ianto frowned at Jack, confused.

“For conning you. You were right; I should have respected your wishes.”

“Thanks for that,” Ianto sniffed.

“I hope we can still be friends,” Jack said quietly. “We were always friends, right?”

“Even when we weren’t,” Ianto said with a sad smile, his heart feeling heavy. Someday maybe he’d be over Jack.

Then again, he still dearly loved Lisa.

But Jack had added the baggage of betrayal. Lisa couldn’t help her fate. Jack’s abandonment had been deliberate. Ianto knew he didn’t love the immortal anymore, but his heart had yet to mend, even if it had begun to call to another…

And given that that other was gone and not likely to return, Ianto felt a hollowness inside that began to ache terribly.

Jack nodded and cleared his throat. “Listen. Despite what you’ve sacrificed, you still have a rather impressive array of… specialized skills that T1 forced on you without bothering to give you an instruction manual.” At Ianto’s curious look, he continued, “There’s someone I think you should meet. She’s not always based in New York, but she’ll be in town for some months, yet. She can train you.” He pulled a slip of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to Ianto. “She’s expecting your call.” He hesitated. “But not until you’ve recovered, yeah?”

Ianto nodded, not sure what to say.

“I’ve given all our old arguments a lot of thought, and I’ve decided to bring on a few more people,” he continued.

“I’m glad, Jack,” Ianto nodded again. Jack kept surprising him.

“And you’ll once more rejoice that you’re gone, because one of them is John.”

Ianto barked out a laugh, then put a hand to his side. He winced, but he kept chuckling, and Jack laughed softly with him.

After a moment, Jack sighed. “Can I kiss you goodbye?”

Exactly three thoughts chased one another through Ianto’s head.

Jack wanted to kiss him.

Jack was saying goodbye.

He had no idea how many days had passed since he’d brushed his teeth.

He nodded.

Jack leaned down and kissed Ianto, a soft, sweet, gentle kiss that was full of affection and regret.

“Goodbye, Ianto.”

“Goodbye, Jack.”

It was a lovely kiss, but Ianto felt none of the spark that used to crackle between them. It had died, along with their love. As Jack left the room, it felt like a physical blow. Something precious was dead, and he was truly alone, now.

Yes, he had been for some months, now. But now there was a finality that filled him with such grief that he could hardly feel his own borders. He just stared for a moment, swamped by grief, and then Natasha stirred, sitting up and frowning. She rubbed a hand over her heart, her expression bordering on tragic.

“Hey… Hey… Ianto.”

He looked up and saw John Hart before him, holding him by the shoulders. “C’mon, Eye Candy. You’re broadcasting. Will you let me help you?”

Ianto nodded, hardly realizing what he was consenting to. But as soon as Hart nudged against his mind, he saw the huge, gaping hole in his defenses. “Sorry,” he muttered, once they had repaired the hole.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hart replied. “You really loved him, didn’t you?”

Ianto shrugged.

“Do you still?”

Ianto sniffed and shook his head, not trusting his voice.

“Yeah, I can see how that would be almost worse, for you,” Hart said, almost kindly. “But hey. First step is to stop. Then you let go, and then you can start again.”

Ianto nodded. He really hoped Hart would leave, soon.

John chuckled. “Hey, I don’t need to be able to read you to take that hint.” He stood. “I know your teammates will all tell you this, but for what it’s worth, what you did?” He grinned. “Epic.”

“Thanks,” Ianto said quietly, then he looked up at John. “And thank you for your help.”

Hart nodded, then left the room.

Natasha was staring at him.

“What?”

“What I just felt – the grief and pain and loneliness…” she looked at him, her eyes shining. “Is that how you feel, right now?”

Ianto sniffed and shrugged, feeling too tired to properly deflect.

She moved up the bed so she was sitting, her right hip next to his and pulled him into her arms.

He put his head on her shoulder and silently wept until the doctor arrived a quarter hour later and quietly dosed him.

The entire building had felt the phenomenon, everyone briefly overcome by a feeling of profound grief and loneliness. Natasha never breathed a word as to its source.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Closure with Jack. That's the last we'll see of him, for quite a while.
> 
> Am curious what you might think about Ianto's sacrifice, to help Bucky. The big question is, did he give that energy to Bucky, or just loan it to him, for a while?
> 
> Let me know how you like it - thanks for reading!


	17. Chapter 17

Ianto spent the next week sleeping, hooked up to IV’s for the bare minimum of hydration and nourishment. Natasha, Clint, and Steve took turns feeding him, if they could keep him awake long enough. Several days passed before Coulson had a moment to spare to check in on him, but they shared a meal and a long conversation that Ianto later realized was his mission debrief. He was grateful that Phil had made it a painless experience.

On about the fifth day, Ianto woke from a post-prandial nap (to be followed later by a proper afternoon nap before a light snooze before tea) to find Steve sitting in the comfortable arm chair next to him, reading one of the Harry Potter books. He was slowly making his way through the many suggestions people enjoyed giving him about ways to catch up on pop culture. He was particularly enjoying this suggestion.

Ianto had been largely silent during his time in SHIELD’s medical facility. He knew that the others were running interference, and he knew that his closest friends could tell that the previous week’s experience had stirred up a lot of memories, and a lot of grief, for him. Ianto turned his head away from Steve, fighting a fresh wave of tears.

In the next moment, he felt a warm hand taking his.

No words; just the warmth of a comforting touch. He continued to hear the pages turning as Steve continued to read, though he was now doing so one-handed.

It wasn’t something they spoke of, really. But all those months, as Ianto planned and plotted, and Steve grieved and acclimated… _of course_ not all of the ‘I’m going to hold your hand so it looks like I’m comforting you’ was contrived. Sometimes the silent support was precisely what Steve had needed, and now he was returning the favor.

***

“All right, so Pepper has found the perfect place,” Tony was speaking, even as he breezed through the door. “Coulson says they’re releasing you from care tomorrow, and your reservation is for the day after. Happy’ll fly you over.”

He picked an asparagus spear from Ianto’s dinner plate and kept talking. “It’s some fancy place near Snowdonia National Park. Everything’s taken care of – the suite, all your meals, and she’s arranged for a bunch of different services – acupuncture, massage, I don’t know what all, she’ll give you a list. They’ll come to you, so no need for you to even leave your room, if you don’t feel like it.”

He took a moment to chew the asparagus and added, “But if you do, she says the grounds are pretty, and there’ll be a car and driver at your disposal, if you want to venture into the park and do some hiking, or whatever.”

When Tony finally stopped speaking, he looked at Ianto, who was staring at him.

“What?”

“Tony, what are you on about?” Ianto asked.

“You said that once you’d taken down Hydra you were going to go for a long holiday in Wales,” Tony said. “Pepper’s booked the suite for a month, but we can extend it, if you need more time,” he added, as an afterthought.

“You did say that,” Natasha reminded Ianto, smirking. Steve chuckled from his place at the foot of the bed. Plenty of room – Ianto was sitting up, with his legs folded tailor-style.

“But…”

“Look, kid. You earned it. Just go. Rest, let Pepper spoil you, and get back on your feet.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Ianto said, shifting to sit up more and reaching for the tablet that was on the bedside table. “But you may want to hold that thought, before you go treating me to anything.”

Natasha moved to his left side and sat next to his hip as Tony sat in the armchair to the right of the bed, looking perplexed. Ianto queued up the footage and sat staring at the tablet a moment, gathering his thoughts.

“There’s something you need to know, but it’s going to be hard to hear. Hard to see,” Ianto began, and Tony frowned. Before he could say anything, Ianto continued. “I found this footage, and I thought you should know about it. Wouldn’t be right not to. But… I’m sorry, Tony.”

“What is it?” Tony looked concerned.

“First, I need for you to understand something. Barnes had zero control over the missions Hydra forced him to carry out. You get that, right?”

Tony shrugged. “I can’t imagine it, really. I mean, my mind is kind of my _thing_ , right? I can’t imagine not having some degree of control over my actions.”

Ianto blinked. “But you do understand that it is possible to subvert someone’s will. As a scientist, you do acknowledge that it’s been done, yes?”

“Yeah,” Tony shrugged noncommittally. “What’s this about?”

Ianto sighed. “You need to see this,” he said, and handed Tony the tablet.

Ianto had already shown the footage to Natasha, Clint, and Steve. Steve had come close to weeping. It was grainy CCTV footage of the murder of Howard and Maria Stark. Tony blinked at it for several minutes, speechless.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Ianto said quietly.

Tony looked slowly up at Ianto. “And you’re trying to defend him?”

“It wasn’t him, Tony. It was Hydra.”

“I can see right here, that it was him,” Tony growled angrily.

“Tony,” Steve tried to speak, but Ianto sent him a look to quiet him. Steve looked at Natasha, who shrugged, looking sad. Ianto had already explained that he needed to be the one to take the hit for this, if the rest of them were going to be a real team.

It was a sad reality, and it would once again set Ianto apart from the team he so very much wanted to be a part of. But it was for the good of the others, and he was prepared to make the sacrifice. But Steve, Clint, and Natasha worried about the timing – that this would bring him even lower.

Ianto nodded. “I understand that you’re angry. That you want to blame him. But once you’ve had some time to process this, I hope you’ll remember that he was forced to do these things.”

“How can you know that?”

“Been inside his brain – how could I not?” Ianto said, raising his eyebrows.

Tony rolled his eyes. He stood and began pacing. “Are you still going on, about that? Please. Give me a break. Inside his brain. Jesus. Pull the other one, why don’t ya?” He stopped pacing, all of a sudden. “Wait. I know what it is. You’re missing Captain Fantastic, and this guy ticks just enough of the boxes.”

“Not only is none of that true, but it’s also offensive,” Ianto frowned.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you haven’t gotten laid since you got here,” Tony raised his hands as though trying to deflect blame. “Pathetic, really. You try to dress yourself up and put on airs, but you’ll never be anything but… what was it, you said?” He snapped his fingers as though remembering. “A tea boy!”

Ianto shifted as one of his sister’s favorite barbs about him putting on airs landed hard. He was doing his best not to engage in the personal attacks, but Tony was growing hurtful. “I think we’ve drifted off topic, a bit.”

“No, this is _just_ the topic I want to discuss. You’re sitting there defending the man who murdered my parents! So _I_ think… if you want to build him up and gloss over what he’s done, it must be because that’s just what you do. You try to act like the big man, but who are you, really? Nobody. What are you?”

“Tony,” Natasha couldn’t keep quiet any longer. Ianto squeezed her hand.

“Nothing,” Tony spat. “You. Are. _Nothing_.” He had leaned closer to Ianto and punctuated each word with a poke to the younger man’s chest. Then he leaned back. “And your fancy suits and gourmet coffee and ridiculous quips can’t gloss over that.”

“Wow,” Ianto blinked, hoping the onslaught was over. “I can’t believe you don’t like my coffee.” It was a forlorn hope, the idea that humor could deflect Tony, at this point. Particularly after that crack about ridiculous quips. But he really had no other response at hand.

“Yeah, well I can’t believe you’re taking his side!”

Ianto drew in a breath. “Tony, I like to think we’ve become friends, over these last few months. I hope you know that I wouldn’t take the side of a murderous stranger over yours. That’s not what I’m doing. And this isn’t even about sides.” He frowned, then checked himself. “Actually, it is. You just can’t see that you and Barnes are both on the same one, with Hydra on the other.”

“Fuck Hydra!” Tony turned to Ianto again, shouting.

The door opened and Clint came in, but a look from Natasha had him closing the door and standing quietly.

“Exactly,” Ianto nodded. Good. Something they could agree on. He took a deep, calming breath. He could usually share some of that calm with those around him, but everything just hurt so much right now, when he tried. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to focus. “Fuck Hydra,” he said, nodding again. “They are the ones responsible for all of this.”

“You know what?” Tony was livid. He was still standing over Ianto, none of his rage subsiding. “Fuck your friendship. And fuck you, too,” he screamed in Ianto’s face. “He killed my mom!” He turned and strode towards the door. “And when I find him, I will kill _him_ for it.” He turned in the doorway with a nasty smirk. “Thanks for the heads up.”

Ianto flinched when the door slammed, then slumped back in the bed, feeling dizzy and fuzzy and tired and…

 _Grief. Loneliness. Despair_.

At the stricken looks on the faces of those in the room, Ianto could tell he was broadcasting, again. He hung his head, putting his face in his hands, and focused on getting his shielding back in place. It had taken a hell of a beating, from the force of Tony’s angry tirade.

Thankfully, he was able to get his defenses back in place fairly quickly, and he raised his head. He could barely speak, and when he finally did, they didn’t understand him. “Dwi wedi blino,” he muttered.[1]

“What?” Natasha leaned towards him and helped settle him against the pillows. “Ianto, what did you say?”

“’m tired,” he said softly. “You lot can go. ‘m fine.”

It was the first time he’d asked them to leave him, and none of them wanted to do it. Only Natasha knew what had just happened, but the others were working it out, fast. She’d only confirm their suspicions, once they reached the hallway.

“Get some sleep, bratishka,” Natasha leaned forward and kissed his forehead, after a few moments’ hesitation. “We’ll come back and eat dinner with you.” The others bid a brief and hasty farewell as she herded them from the room.

Ianto curled up onto the flat of the bed (sliding down to where he’d been sitting, ignoring the incline he’d been leaning against). He went fetal, making himself as small as possible.

Another lost friend. And someone who could have been important to him, as good as dead. Because Tony was fully capable of fulfilling his promise.

Ianto wept.

***

When they returned to the medical ward an hour later, it was to find a doctor standing over an unconscious Ianto with a chart, questioning the duty nurse closely.

“He said he was in pain,” the nurse said.

“And it didn’t occur to you to check with me, given the fact that he has attempted to refuse meds since he’s been here, and has been showing every hallmark of a severe depression?”

She paled at that. “I… I’m sorry, doctor, but he was in a great deal of distress. I didn’t exceed the maximum dosage. Yes, it was unusual, but I was concerned he would pull open his wound.”

That gave the doctor pause. He verified the dosage and then looked down at Jones, who was still curled up in the middle of the bed. He didn’t suppose there was any real harm done, and the nurse had a good eye for when someone was angling for a hit of something for any reason other than a legitimate need. “It’s all right. Let’s get him more comfortable, though.”

Within a few moments, they had lowered the incline of the bed and unfolded Ianto so he was lying properly in it. The doctor took the opportunity to check Ianto’s wound, which was healing well but did show some signs of pulling.

“What’s happening?” Natasha asked.

“About a half hour ago, he summoned me and was in some distress, asking for pain medication,” the nurse answered.

“He _asked_ for pain meds” Clint frowned. Ianto didn’t like to be medicated; up until now, he had only consented to painkillers if one of them was there to watch over him. That he had asked for them now was worrying. Clint suddenly had the overwhelming urge to find Stark and kick his stubborn ass.

***

Ianto did not wake up until the next morning. He was subdued but cooperative as the doctor checked him over and ensured he was ready to be discharged. He insisted on going to visit Myfanwy, and Natasha and Clint accompanied him.

She seemed to know that he was injured, because she didn’t poke or nudge him with her beak, as she normally did. She cooed at him and nuzzled into his hand as he petted her, seeming to want to give him comfort. He fed her some chocolate and watched as she went back to her doggie bed (Clint made sure she always had a clean, undamaged one) and settled down for a nap.

They were joined by Steve as they headed up to Ianto’s apartment, where he surprised them by simply shuffling to the bedroom without a word, undressing, and crawling into his own bed.

***

It was almost eight in the evening. Dinner was almost cooked, and they were debating whether to wake Ianto to feed him when there was a soft knock at the door. Natasha opened it, surprised to see Pepper Potts standing there, looking pained.

“I know Tony is being completely unreasonable. He needs to process this,” she said, stepping into the apartment at Natasha’s unspoken invitation, “but he’ll come around,” she assured them, looking for Ianto.

She had not been to Ianto’s place before, and she was surprised by the cozy comfort of it. State of the art, with the television and sound system, but warm and comforting, with shelf after shelf of well-maintained books.

Deep, comfortable furniture faced the television in one portion of the large living room, and a separate conversation area next to the picture window, with two wing chairs flanking a small table.

Having curated Tony’s art collection, she was interested to see the pieces in the room. Some high quality reproductions, as well as at least one original from a local up and comer. A couple she didn’t recognize, and assumed they had been local artists in London or Cardiff.

It was a lovely place, not at all what she would have expected from a young man in his mid-twenties. But rather than the ‘airs’ that Tony spoke of, she saw the attempt at establishing a place of comfort and stability.

The only thing missing was the man, himself.

“He’s sleeping,” Natasha said quietly. “Has been, since we returned.”

“But he was discharged this morning, wasn’t he?” Pepper asked.

Natasha nodded. “We were just debating whether to wake him, or not.”

“I think you should,” Pepper encouraged. “He’s lost an awful lot of weight.”

Natasha paused. It was true. Ianto was down almost twenty pounds from what he’d weighed when he’d joined SHIELD (she may have peeked at his chart while he was sleeping). Of course, more than a third of that was in the last week, since his injury. But how did Pepper know that? Natasha’s eyes narrowed.

“Tony was trying to prove a point,” Pepper said. “He accessed the CCTV feed in Ianto’s room in the medical wing to show me the conversation.” She sighed. “The only point he managed to prove is that Ianto has more dignity and grace than anyone I’ve ever seen, and that Tony can be an unmitigated ass, at times.”

Natasha eyed her. So far, Steve and Clint had been listening closely to the conversation, but had not joined in. “And?”

“I don’t know,” Pepper admitted. “Tony stopped his ranting, so I think he at least realizes how horribly he behaved. But he’s still angry.” She shrugged. “I just wanted to check on Ianto.”

“You saw?”

After the doctor had left Ianto the evening before, they had pulled up the CCTV footage on Ianto’s tablet and watched as he quietly fell apart.

Pepper nodded.

At first he had merely slid down in the bed and silently wept like a child, curled so tightly that he seemed to be in physical pain. But then he had stopped weeping and gone unnaturally still before grasping his head and almost hyperventilating. In his distress, he called for the nurse, and she gave him an injection.

They had surmised that Ianto asked for the pain meds to knock him out before he lost control and started broadcasting, again. He was clearly overwhelmed, and keeping control was becoming more and more difficult. At least if he were unconscious, there would be nothing to broadcast.

In the next moment, they spotted Ianto standing next to the picture window, looking out at the city below. They hadn’t heard him get up or come into the room – the three with enough training to know better feeling slightly abashed. But he was not paying them any mind. He wasn’t ignoring them, really; he just wasn’t focused on them, either.

Pepper had never seen him so… rumpled. He was barefoot, in track pants and an old Green Day concert t-shirt. His hair was tousled, and he looked like he was still sleep-muddled. Truth be told, he was adorable, and she had to fight the urge to walk over to the window, take him in her arms, and give him a cuddle.

“How’re you feeling?” Clint asked.

Several more moments passed than were polite, and then a shoulder lifted, slightly. “Tired. But I was thirsty.”

“C’mon,” Clint threw an arm around Ianto’s shoulder. “Let’s get you some water, and we’ll fix you a plate.”

“’m not hungry,” Ianto muttered.

“Yeah, but you know the rules,” Clint reasoned. “We know you didn’t eat your breakfast. That means you haven’t had anything since lunch yesterday. You know Cap and Widow aren’t going to let you get away with it,” he led Ianto to the small table and sat him down.

Pepper found it interesting, watching Hawkeye turn into a mother hen. He handed Ianto a glass of water, clucking that he needed to drink it all before putting the electric kettle on and setting about making a cup of tea for Ianto.

There was enough food for them all, so they sat down at the table with Ianto (they had to use the rolling chair from Ianto’s desk for a fifth chair, but there was room) and plated some buttery parmesan noodles with grilled chicken and vegetables. Conversation was quiet and comfortable, and accommodated Ianto’s sleepy silence.

He picked at his food, but when Natasha threatened to pick up his fork and start feeding him, he put in a bit more effort. Pepper noticed that he drank his tea with slightly more enthusiasm, though. Seeing him thus, she well understood their concern.

***

[1] I’m tired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This one's a little bit longer, but tough.
> 
> Not sure this will go over well, since Tony's a fan favorite, but his sharpness has always made me uneasy. He can be a bit of an intellectual bully. I've been on the receiving end of that kind of tongue lashing, and it really is no fun. That said, he did just watch his parents get murdered, and he has a right to be angry. Just not to take it out on Ianto. 
> 
> And Ianto would have taken it better, if he wasn't still raw from tearing himself apart in trying to help Bucky. 
> 
> Pepper's right, though. Tony will come around.
> 
> Anyway, it's time for Ianto to start recovering. That's up, next.
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter, despite the angst. Thanks for reading - let me know what you think!


	18. Chapter 18

At a lull in the conversation, Ianto cleared his throat. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, but you don’t have to babysit me.”

“We’re all stood down,” Natasha said with a shrug. “This is how we normally spend our downtime – hanging out together.”

“Besides,” Clint grinned. “You have the best TV.”

Ianto smiled, and Pepper could tell he was trying really hard to seem as normal as he could, but he just didn’t have the wherewithal to make it convincing. He had spoken very little to any of them, and he was far too polite to ask her why she was there, so she figured she’d just have to tell him.

“Ianto, I wanted to tell you…” she hesitated as he raised his eyes to meet hers. He looked dreadful. Pale and drawn, his eyes dull with grief and yet bright with pain. Steve had handed him a pain pill as they ate, but she didn’t think it was all physical. “I’m sorry for what Tony said,” she all but blurted.

“Why?” he asked, looking perplexed. “Not like it wasn’t true,” he shrugged, and the others looked too stunned to reply. “And _you_ didn’t say those things.” He leaned forward. “It’s really not your place to apologize for his words, you know.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not claiming responsibility for his words or actions, believe me. But I wanted you to know that I don’t agree with what he said, I don’t approve of what he said, and what I’m sorry for is the pain that he caused. Not because it’s my responsibility, but because I know what it’s like to get a verbal smack-down from Tony Stark.”

Ianto suddenly looked entirely alert. “If he _ever_ speaks to you the way he spoke to me, you tell me. I’ll come beat his arse.”

Pepper chuckled. “No, he wouldn’t dream of speaking to me that way. But he’s far too clever, and has too hot a temper, sometimes. He knows how to wound, with his words. Yesterday, though. He was out of control. I know it’s no consolation, but I’ve never seen him go after anyone, the way he went after you.”

Ianto’s perfect posture slumped as he leaned back in his chair, looking small and oh, so young. In a moment of startling clarity, Pepper suddenly realized the true impact of Tony’s words. Ianto hadn’t merely endured a friend shouting abuse at him. He’d endured a friend _repeating_ past abuse, and in the process, compounding it. She suddenly felt sick.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged, and everyone at the table sputtered their protests.

“Yes, it does,” Steve reached out and took Ianto’s hand. “You think it’s okay for you to be the one to take the brunt of any attack, because it means it’s not someone else taking it. But that’s not right, Ianto.”

“No, it’s not,” Natasha ran a hand down his other arm. “If it’s not right for anyone else to be attacked, it’s certainly not right for you to be.”

“I appreciate that,” Ianto shrugged again, “but it’s better, if it’s me.”

“Why?” Clint asked. “Why are you the designated whipping boy?”

Ianto stared into his tea for a moment before lifting the mug and finishing what was left of it. He lowered the mug and smiled softly. “The world needs each of you. If I can limit the distractions for you, take the heat, let you do what you do… why wouldn’t I?”

They stared at him, disbelieving, and he sighed. “Look. This is the one thing _I_ can do: take a hit.” He gave a grim smirk. “Think of it as my contribution. And present circumstances aside, I do have thicker skin than you might think.”

“Jesus, Ianto,” Clint shook his head. “No one is doubting your strength, or your commitment to the team. But you’re not our mascot scapegoat. None of us _wants_ that.”

“Well, this was on me, anyway,” Ianto replied, and no one missed the deflection. “It was my call, to save Sergeant Barnes, and I already knew how it would go, defending him to Tony.”

“Why did you show him the footage?” Pepper asked, curious.

“No way that wouldn’t get leaked, at some point,” Ianto huffed. “This way, we were in control of when and how it happened. And because it happened right away, there would be no extra burden if it came out later – no blowback about keeping secrets. Tony deserved the truth, and he had every right to be angry.”

“Yes, but he had no right to be so cruel to you,” Pepper replied. “He lost control, and don’t think for a moment I won’t be pointing out to him that if he can’t control himself when he’s merely angry, he doesn’t have a leg to stand on, blaming Barnes for his actions after being tortured and brainwashed.”

Ianto gave a half-hearted smile of thanks, then ran a hand over his face. “Duw, but I’m tired,” he said, then looked around the table. “I appreciate you all watching over me, but it’s really not necessary. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“Not a single thing,” Clint grinned.

“Besides, you’re leaving tomorrow anyway,” Pepper managed to make the comment sound offhand. “I’m sure they want to spend time with you, before you go.”

Ianto frowned at her in confusion, and she looked around the table before her eyes landed back on him.

“What? That was the other reason I came by. Here’s Happy’s number. Just give him a call when you’re ready, and he’ll pick you up. Your reservation is for however long you want it, beginning at four weeks. There’s a menu of services I’ve lined up, all you have to do is confirm the scheduling.”

“But,” Ianto looked utterly baffled.

“What, you thought that was Tony, arranging your holiday?” she chuckled. “Afraid not, Ianto. This trip is on me. I may not be privy to all of the details, but I know enough to realize you need some time to regroup, as well as recover.”

“But…”

“No buts. I really must insist. You need a change of scenery, your own homeland, and time to recharge.” She got up from the table, Steve, Ianto, and Clint following suit. She came around the table and gave Ianto a hug. “Thank you for what you’ve done, Ianto. And I know someday Tony will thank you for telling him the truth. Just give him time, okay?”

Ianto nodded, looking at her feet. He was overwhelmed, and beginning to grow dizzy.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Pepper knew enough about polite young people with abusive backgrounds to know that Ianto would be unable to refuse this holiday, now that she’d framed it as a gift.

And she didn’t feel the least bit guilty.

***

Ianto spent the next four weeks enjoying a luxury suite at the hotel Pepper had found. It was an historic country house on the edge of the Snowdonia National Park. The grand Victorian manor overlooking the River Dee was extravagant, and a bit fussy for Ianto’s tastes, but his suite was slightly more understated.

The rooms were beautiful – much too grand for Ianto’s comfort, but he spent enough time in them for the foreignness of their fineness to wear off, a bit. The vaulted wooden ceiling was inlaid with stained glass, and on days when his energy flagged, it was comforting to lie on the four-poster bed and watch the light play through the patterns and colors of those windows.

Not wishing to seem ungrateful for the generous gift, Ianto had asked his friends to help him pack the next morning, and by mid-morning he had arranged for Happy Hogan to pick him up. Happy drove him to the airport, and then flew him to Wales. In one of Stark’s state-of-the-art jets, the flight only took a few hours. Ianto had fallen asleep before they’d even reached cruising altitude.

The plane was some cross between a luxury jet and a Quinjet, with vertical takeoff and landing capabilities, so they were able to land on the grounds of the hotel designated for helicopter arrivals. They arrived a bit before eight in the evening, and it took most of Ianto’s energy to get checked in and make his way to his room. He leaned more heavily upon Happy than he would have liked, but the older man was patient and kind.

The hotel staff gave him a bottle of water and he managed to drink it by the time he reached his room, where he fell onto the bed. He woke the next morning still wearing the track pants and hoodie he had travelled in, but he realized Happy had taken his shoes and somehow gotten him into the bed and under the duvet.

Happy had also unpacked his things, hanging his clothes in the wardrobe and leaving the rest on top of the dresser so Ianto could arrange things as he wished. Once he was unpacked, he called down for breakfast and showered while waiting for the food. He slept the rest of the day.

In fact, he slept most of that first week, and didn’t manage to even leave the room. Hotel staff were anxious about cleaning, but he was sleeping so much and was generally so neat that there was really no need.

The second week he began walking the grounds and availing himself of the treatments Pepper had arranged for him. He tried acupuncture, which was so helpful he became a believer, and the massage therapist was nothing short of a miracle worker, managing in six treatments over two weeks to unknot the tension in his neck. The treatments in the final week were then simply delicious enjoyment.

By the third week, he had regained enough strength to venture into the park, and he enjoyed the wild beauty and stunning views enormously. He spent a great deal of time out of doors, exploring the grounds of the hotel when he didn’t feel energetic enough to wander further afield. Christmas was a quiet affair, with the hotel staff setting up a tree in his room as he ate supper on Christmas Eve.

He waited until after brunch on Christmas day to open the presents that had been neatly piled beneath the tree. Phil, Natasha, Clint, Steve, and Pepper had kindly sent gifts, and Ianto was pleased he had dragged his carcass to the shops the week before to send some gifts to them, as well.

The dark spot on an otherwise pleasant day was the annual call to his sister. He had sent gifts to her and her family, but apparently it wasn’t enough to warrant a civil call. He crawled under the covers and slept for several hours, only rising to go down for supper because he knew the kitchen staff had made a special effort to make the holiday meal a pleasant one for the guests.

As the weeks unfolded, he took long walks, then warmed up before the fire with hot chocolate or tea. He found himself sitting and staring a great deal, but for the first time in his life, he was at his leisure to do so. He read a dozen books, starting lucky thirteen on the plane ride home.

He was fairly certain he was watched, but he knew the eyes on him were friendly ones, and he appreciated the care and concern that led to the need to watch, as well as the consideration of knowing he needed the time to himself.

Just as his wound slowly knit back together, so did his psyche. The wounds from tearing himself away to follow Barnes, as well as from sacrificing certain aspects of himself to help heal the other man, slowly mended. By the time he returned to New York a day after the new year dawned, he had regained his mental and emotional equilibrium, as well as his physical strength. He was ready to return to work.

***

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_

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---  
  
***

Of course, it took a week or so of testing and qualifying and just general bollocks for SHIELD to clear Ianto for light duty. In the meantime, he realized he needed all the help he could get, to prevent him from accidentally tearing himself apart again, in future. For better or worse, these abilities were really beginning to assert themselves, and he needed to know how to safely tap into them.

Jack had been correct, that Ianto’s experience during the battle had opened up a new aspect of the abilities T1 had spent so much time trying to bring forth. So had the Master’s attentions, which Ianto was aware of, though he could not properly remember them.

Part of his grief had been due to the memories stirred up.

Somehow, tearing his mind from his body had made it whole again, even as he gave over a part of it to Barnes. Everything that had been missing or muted or hiding was now reintegrated, and Ianto was practically buzzing with it, now that the exhaustion had been addressed.

It felt like a current running just under his skin. Most of the time, he could disregard it, but it was pure power, and he needed to know how to control it; how _not_ to abuse it. So he reached out to Jack’s contact, despite having no name. He gained no more information when calling the number, but he was given an address on Bleecker Street, and a time to meet.

It was not what he expected.

The man who answered the door, a Mr. Wong, referred to her as the Ancient One, when Ianto asked. Ianto only just refrained from rolling his eyes. Leave it to Jack to send him to someone who couldn’t even be arsed to have a proper name.

“I find that names and other labels are just another form of attachment,” a soft, slightly amused voice announced from the shadows of the room he was shown to.

Ianto watched as an ageless woman with striking features and a shaved head stepped from the shadows. She was an enigma. She was so unassuming as to almost disappear from the room, while at the same time too powerful to ignore. Ianto was simultaneously taken with the urge to hug her and to run away.

He did neither, of course. Though he did have to fight the urge to roll his eyes, again. Leave it to Jack to send him to someone who didn’t like labels.

She chuckled. “You have a great deal of control, already,” she remarked. She drew closer to him, and he deliberately shut down any reaction to her proximity. He reminded himself that Jack had said Ianto could trust her.

That in no way made her any less terrifying.

Still, Ianto Jones had made a career of refusing to flinch in the face of the things that terrified him. Hell, never mind the career; it had become his life’s work.

“Are we not meant to live in this world, despite its duality?” he queried, using his intellect to rein in his apprehension. “If we lost _all_ attachments, we’d have nothing left to hold us here.”

“True,” she smiled. “And it is not your journey, to eliminate attachments, Ianto Jones.” She looked at him intently, mildly impressed that he returned her gaze and endured her proximity without any outward reaction. Inwardly, of course… She smiled. Yes, his control was impressive, indeed.

“That’s a relief,” he replied, his lips quirking in a smile.

“Yes, I’d have as much success, teaching a falcon to scuba dive,” she quipped. “Your attachments define you, like few others.”

“Pardon?” Ianto frowned. “I have had to do many things, despite my emotions.” Most things, he often felt.

“You mistake my meaning. I was in no way speaking of any sort of weakness, Mr. Jones. Rather, your emotional attachments are what anchor you. They give you meaning, provide you the strength to do those things you must. You have a fine intellect, and your emotions bring you into balance, so you do not merely operate as an automaton.

“Your feelings compel you forward in difficult decisions, even as they pain you, once the dust has settled.” She shook her head sadly. “If you feel it is the right thing to do, you will hold onto something, even as it eviscerates you.”

Ianto blinked. She was staring at him, as though expecting a response. He drew in a deep breath. “Whereas you have lived long enough for a certain level of detachment to come naturally. You appreciate how others cling to things with all their might, even if you can no longer understand their inclination to do so.”

She nodded. “Very good. Jack was correct. They poked at every potentiality, to see which would present. And now, just as every trauma deepens your pain, it also pulls forward a new gift.”

“I’m afraid,” Ianto confessed with a whisper.

“You are wise to be so. But I will help you. We will explore what has been forced forward, and I will help you understand each aspect, and teach you how to control it.” She reached out and grasped his arm. “No need to fear, Mr. Jones. I will teach you, and you will be able to move forward without worrying about accidentally harming anyone.”

“How did…” Ianto nodded. “You’ve been reading me since I arrived?”

She chuckled. “Mr. Jones, I have been reading you since Jack Harkness told me to expect your call. You were wise to take the time to rest and allow yourself to integrate this latest expansion. You have not always done that, in the past.”

“I’ve not always had that luxury,” Ianto replied, trying not to feel violated.

“My apologies,” she nodded, understanding. “I needed to determine whether to respond to your request, or not. I am sorry that in doing so, I invaded your privacy.”

“You would have refused to help me?”

She shrugged. “I rarely take on new students. And technically, you will not even be that. But I have seen enough to know that you do not deserve the pain of continuing to learn by trial and error. You have excellent instincts, but it would be best for you to have proper instruction rather than feel your way blindly along. You have realized enough potential that to continue as you have been would be to risk someone being hurt.”

Ianto paled at the suggestion. “So where do we start?”

She inclined her head and continued to study him. There was much to do, and not much time. How interesting, that one so strongly ruled by his emotions was destined to be chosen by the Mind Stone…

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Ianto's had his much needed holiday, and has begun his training. Was his instructor a surprise?
> 
> Hans Jensen is the German equivalent of John Johnson, just as Ifan (or Ianto) Jones is. The phone number is for the Berlin Philharmonic, if you're curious, though in the story it's a number routed through a dozen different switches before landing on an anonymous server Ianto has access to. Toshiko taught him well. :) Since the constraints of the story wouldn't allow me to save her, I like the idea that her legacy is to keep Ianto safe. 
> 
> I'm rather in love with the idea that Ianto knows exactly where Bucky is, but won't go after him until he knows Bucky's ready.
> 
> And how about that big teaser, at the end? :D
> 
> Lots of different things happening in this chapter - let me know what you think! :)


	19. Chapter 19

**_Berliner Zeitung_** _  
(Berlin Newspaper Classified Ads)  
  
_

_Found: One WWII CLASSIC. Of American origin. Fully restored and in good working order, though will take some time to ensure safe condition. Restorer deserves all the thanks for the obvious effort expended in restoration._

_I know what you did._  
  
---  
  
***

The next three and a half months saw Ianto working intensively on several fronts. His regular job at SHIELD was backburnered as he helped Coulson and Fury with cleanup. There were several Hydra bases that had been alluded to in all of the records found, but they had clearly been off-grid, and Ianto had been too new to be read in on their locations. Remaining Hydra operatives had gone to ground, and presumably were holed up at those bases.

It would take time to hunt these last remnants down and eliminate them, but there was a high degree of confidence that they could do just that. It would take time, but Hydra was in its death throes.

When not working at SHIELD (and Coulson, knowing of Ianto’s extracurricular activities, insisted that the younger man maintain a forty to fifty hour work week, to keep his hours down), Ianto worked with the Ancient One. The first week or two had been spent evaluating him, checking to be sure he was healthy and whole, and then assessing his abilities.

The first thing the Ancient One discovered was that Ianto had developed into a powerful empath, and so the first priority became refining his defenses so he could use the ability at will, rather than be swamped by whatever happened to be passing. The newest aspect of that ability was projecting. Ianto had instinctively been using a weaker version of that gift for years, projecting calm and comfort to those in his care.

Again, his defenses were of utmost concern, not only because he tended to be deeply emotional and it was unwise to share this trait with the rest of the world, but also because this would be the most difficult ability to control, and therefore the easiest to abuse (even if only accidentally).

The team had already found that if Ianto was having a bad day, they’d better get themselves out into the field if they didn’t want to have a share in it. But Ianto was a quick study. He promptly mastered his defenses (he already had strong habits in place; it was merely a matter of refining them) and even began learning how to share those defenses, wrapping others in his protection.

The Ancient One also learned that Ianto’s defensive shielding was actually blossoming into an expanded version of itself, in unexpected ways. They found out quite by accident.

***

Wong and Ianto had struck up a strange sort of frenemyship. Wong did not approve of the Ancient One instructing someone who was not destined to be a disciple in the mystical arts. She chose not to explain, understanding that the two men needed to find their own equilibrium in what would eventually evolve into a good friendship.

In the meantime, Ianto endured Wong’s temperamental interactions, not understanding the problem, other than his perpetual status as an outsider. Wong’s attitude reminded him of Owen’s rough treatment, and though it stirred his grief and insecurity, there was also comfort in the familiarity of their interactions.

And at least Wong wasn’t as mean-spirited as Owen had been.

They traded barbs good-naturedly. Ianto looked on Wong’s organizational skills with a critical eye, and Wong took delight in helping with Ianto’s training by subjecting the younger man to surprise attacks at unlikely times.

One Saturday, as Ianto, Clint, and Natasha were wandering around Chelsea Market (Clint needed shoes), Ianto stopped in the middle of the walkway before moving quickly to another. Clint and Natasha peeled off, recognizing the maneuver. Ianto had spotted a tail.

Well, ‘spotted’ wasn’t the right word. It was more like an itch. Ianto knew he was being watched, but couldn’t spot the tail. And then a spark flew his way, and he stood watching it approach. There was something about it, and he just intuitively felt his way towards it.

As he focused on the spark, it slowed down. Finally, it stopped about a foot away from him. He reached out and poked it with his finger, and it shattered into a cloud of light before dissipating.

Turned out, Ianto Jones was impervious to magic.

Of course, there were parameters to this, and his success varied with his level of focus, but this was an interesting development. The Ancient One now understood why Ianto had come to her, and she redoubled her efforts to teach him what he would need to know.

It was a grueling few months. Ianto would go to work, and then from work go to Bleecker Street, where he would train for a few hours. Then he’d return to his apartment for dinner – usually joined by one or more of his friends. Once he ate, he would collapse into bed, unaware (at first) that the Ancient One was forcing sleep upon him, to keep him sane and healthy.

For the first time in his life, Ianto was getting at least eight hours of sleep, each night. He was still spending time with the SHIELD therapist, and between dealing with his past and healing the damage that his traumas had done to his mind, his nightmares were abating.

Because of the incident at the Market, Wong stopped looking upon Ianto as a frivolous waste of the Ancient One’s time, and began training with Ianto outright, to help him develop his skills.

There were other talents, but they had not come forward enough as yet, and the Ancient One knew that it all began and ended with Ianto’s shielding, so they focused on that, more than anything else.

***

**_Moldova Suverana  
_**_(Moldova Newspaper Classified Ads)  
  
_

_Lost: One WWII antique. Humblest apologies for any previous mislabeling. Of American origin, though willing to overlook. Restoration decidedly not of American origin (you're welcome). Can guarantee that if found will be safely stored and maintained in optimal condition. If found, please contact Ion Ioneşti (+373 22 222 734)._  
  
---  
  
***

In early May, their peace was shattered with the arrival of the Norse god of mischief. Clint was compromised and turned, Natasha was on edge, and the Avenger Initiative was getting an emergency kick-start. Natasha retrieved Bruce Banner, and Coulson roped in Tony Stark, since the billionaire was still barely speaking to Ianto.

Fury and Coulson still had every intention that Ianto would be the handler for the Initiative, but Stark had yet to get onside. Once his temper had cooled, he had realized that he’d been out of line with Agent Jones; but he wasn’t really the type for heartfelt apologies, and he was pretty pissed that Jones had gone on holiday to Wales on his dime. Deep down, he knew that had been Pepper’s call, but he couldn’t very well be pissed with _her_ , now could he?

So Ianto took the brunt of Stark’s anger and snark, parrying each thrust with humor and aplomb, and not allowing anyone to see how well each barb hit its mark. Even still, Natasha, Clint, and Steve ran interference, took up for him, and tried to cheer him up when it became obvious that Tony was getting to him.

Now they were in the midst of a crisis. They had just returned from their little romp in the woods after capturing Loki in Stuttgart. Fury was about to start questioning Loki. And there was Jones, serving coffee…

Tony shook his head. Of course the idiot had commandeered the helicarrier’s coffeemaker. He would never admit to being pleased by this, but he would have to figure out a way to sneak a cup. No way Jones would just give him one – even Tony was willing to admit that in his anger he’d crossed a lot of lines with the younger man.

But then Ianto surprised him. His tray had a cup of the elixir for Stark, after all. He looked up, surprised, only to see that stoic mask Jones had taken to wearing whenever in his presence. For the first time, something clicked, and it struck home just how much he had hurt the young man that he had come to consider a friend.

Tony wasn’t ready to concede Jones’ point about Barnes. But he was willing to see that the bulk of the damage to the friendship had been of his own doing. He reached for his cup and saw Jones flinch, ever so slightly, and he was overcome with remorse.

He had known. Of course he had. You don’t get that kind of reaction from someone without any damage. But the harsher Tony had gotten, the cooler Ianto had become. His façade was absolutely impervious, but Tony knew from experience that the more perfect the mask, the greater the pain that was being hidden by it. And if he was causing Jones to flinch, that meant he had somehow managed to re-traumatize the kid.

Tony resolved to figure out a way to mend this, after this crisis. He watched as Ianto handed a mug to Banner. He opened his mouth to speak – caffeine would be a _very_ bad idea – but Banner beat him to it.

“I don’t drink coffee,” he said, eyeing the mug with regret.

“Dr. Banner, I took the liberty of sourcing a few high-quality varietals of decaffeinated beans. I’ve blended them myself. I know it’s not the same, but I think this might be a tolerable substitute, for you.”

Banner took the mug and closed his eyes as he savored the aroma before taking a sip. His eyes popped open and he looked at Jones. “Agent Jones, this is amazing!” he exclaimed. Tony could tell that the little cup of normal was the true gift, and he once more marveled at Jones’ talent for helping broken people feel a bit less damaged. “Thank you.”

Ianto gave a small smile and nodded. “It’s nothing, Dr. Banner. I’m happy you like the blend. Let me know if you’d like some more.”

Tony winced, remembering his words the day Ianto had shown him the footage of his parents’ deaths. The word “nothing” hit him like a blow as he realized that Ianto likely believed these gestures that meant so much really were nothing. He once again caught sight of the damage he had contributed to.

***

Ianto had felt strange, ever since Loki had been brought on board. Like there was some sort of static in his head. He hadn’t had a moment to himself to try to reinforce his shields, as the others needed to decompress after their fight. He brought them coffee and watched with the rest as Fury spoke to Loki.

Something was off. Loki was far too smug. Ianto had the terrible feeling that the mischief-maker was right where he wanted to be.

He remained on the bridge after the others disbursed. He watched as Coulson told Thor that his lady friend had been moved to safety. His ears perked up as Thor spoke of creatures that sounded familiar.

“We pretend on Asgard that we’re more advanced, but we… we come here, battling like bilchsteim.”

“Like what?” Coulson asked.

“Bilchsteim? You know – huge, scaly, big antlers. You don’t have those?”

Coulson shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

“They are repulsive. And they trample everything in their path.”

“They also have teeth like razor blades and acidic saliva,” Ianto said, handing Coulson another cup of coffee. He wrinkled his nose. “And they smell.”

“Yes!” Thor turned around, his face split into a smile. “They stink of Sulphur and musk, even when not in season.” He smiled as Ianto handed him a cup of coffee, as well. “I thank you, Agent Jones. This coffee is vastly superior to what I sampled when I was last here. And it was quite good, I thought.”

Ianto nodded his thanks as Coulson asked, “Rift?”

Ianto winced and gave that strange head shake. “A whole herd of them came through. Trampled what they didn’t bite in half. We were trying to round them up, but then they killed a couple of civilians – and Jack, and we had to put them down.”

“Shame,” Coulson said, shaking his head.

“Do not take that too badly,” Thor thumped Ianto on the back. “They are destructive at the best of times, and they overpopulate wherever an environment will support them. It is best to eradicate them from an area to which they are not native, or they destroy entire ecosystems.”

Ianto nodded. “Thanks,” he said. He had never felt right about killing off life forms that fell through the rift, through no fault of their own. It seemed unfair. But often it was unavoidable. To receive confirmation that they had made the right call (despite the fact that really it had been the only call) helped to ease Ianto’s conscience on the matter.

***

Ianto felt as though he was wading through gelatin, trying to reach the lab. It was maddening and distracting and uncomfortable, but he fought for focus and kept going. When he arrived, Fury, Romanoff, Banner, Thor, Rogers, and Stark were arguing with one another. Steve and Tony in particular were going at it, and Ianto was confident Thor didn’t normally go around calling humans ‘petty’ and ‘tiny’ in that sneering tone.

He stood at the doorway, taking a breath to center himself and listening to these people who really needed to be working together tear one another apart.

“Oi!” he shouted, and his voice seemed to physically ripple through the room, like a soft breeze.

Everyone shut up and stared at him. He pointed at the scepter, and the stone set in it that was glowing. Ianto stepped carefully across the room, moving like a drunk man moves when trying to appear sober. He stood beside Banner and cast his shielding over everyone.

They all shook their heads as the fog of anger and distrust began to dissipate.

“This is Loki’s game,” Ianto gritted, struggling to maintain the shielding. “Divide and conquer. He’s in a cell, but he’s winning because you’re not paying attention!”

They looked abashed.

Ianto took a breath. “We need a containment unit for the staff. I can’t…” he leaned against the table as his legs grew weak. “I can’t shield everyone for very long. Just know that you’re being manipulated.”

Tony was staring at Ianto as though he’d never seen him before. His head was clear, he couldn’t argue. And somehow, he just _knew_ that it was Ianto shielding him. For a man so staunchly against admitting to any psychic phenomena in the world, it was a bit of a revelation.

“Agent Romanoff,” Fury began, “Would you escort Dr. Banner back to his…”

“Where? You rented my room,” Banner’s temper flared, and the force of his anger shattered Ianto’s shielding. He staggered to the side, his head splitting and his nose bleeding, and watched helplessly as tensions redoubled and the arguments resumed.

It subsided again when Banner took hold of the scepter, then all hell broke loose when one of the engines failed and the helicarrier listed dangerously as it was boarded by hostiles. Ianto stayed in the lab, willing the headache to ease enough so he could see and then trying to regain his equilibrium even as the room pitched. He heard Banner change into the Hulk, but was helpless to do anything.

Finally, after a few tense minutes of listening to the Hulk rage, Ianto was able to stand. He jumped through the floor into the lower section where Banner and Romanoff had fallen and followed the roars. He saw the Hulk knock Natasha into a wall and ran to stand between them.

“Dr. Banner, can you hear me?” he asked, his voice low and soothing. He could feel the nosebleed start again as he opened up every psychic channel he could and began projecting peace and calm.

The Hulk blinked several times and seemed to be calming when out of nowhere, Thor tackled him through the wall and into the lower hangar bay.

Ianto threw his hands up in frustration and quickly re-engaged his shielding. After checking to be sure Natasha was all right, he heard Fury call out that Barton had taken out their systems. She regained her cool and responded, running off to intercept her partner even as Ianto began making his way to the detention area.

As he moved, Ianto took out his pocket watch and opened the back, pulling out the small disk hidden inside. About the size of an American quarter, it was a perception filter. Just large enough to mask Ianto’s presence, if he moved slowly enough.

He replaced the watch in his waistcoat pocket and dropped the disk into another pocket. He entered the detention chamber just as Coulson knocked out the goon who had freed Loki.

“You like this?” Coulson asked, holding up the weapon in his hands.

Ianto saw what Coulson did not. The Loki he was speaking to was a duplicate, of some sort. The real one was creeping up behind Phil.

“We started working on the prototype after you sent the Destroyer. Even I don’t know what it does.”

There was no time. Standing just to the side of Phil, Ianto was in position, but his weapon was not in its holster. He must have dropped it, at some point. Loki was almost on Coulson. He drew in a deep breath.

Nothing for it…

“Do you wanna find out?”

In the next instant, Loki thrust the blade of the spear, frowning when it seemed to hit something before reaching the SHIELD agent’s back. Coulson spun around, only to see that the spear had penetrated the right side of Ianto’s chest.

Ianto felt the tip of the curved blade strike his collarbone from the wrong side. He enjoyed the look of consternation on Loki’s face before the Asgardian’s mind broke through the perception filter. Ianto knew he would feel pain later, but for now shock was overpowering everything else. Instinctively he reached up and grabbed the spear with both hands.

Rather, he grabbed the stone set in the spear, and the entire universe fell away. He saw the inner workings of every mind on the planet, in the solar system, in the galaxy, in the universe. Like so many clockworks, he saw _everything_ , like so many stars in the sky.

And oh, how they burned.

His hands felt scalded, but he could not let go of the stone. Loki’s mind was small and devious and brilliant and conflicted. In this moment, the so-called god was afraid of what he was seeing. Ianto wondered what there was for a god to fear, and then he saw.

He saw himself, through Loki’s eyes. He was glowing. The stone in his hands was pulsing, golden and blue. Ianto himself was surrounded by a blue and silver aura as the stone…

_Oh, gods._

He could see what was about to happen, and he was powerless to stop it.

The stone was about to dismantle him, and he could not see the other side of it clearly enough to tell whether he could be put back together again, when it was done. A still, small voice deep within told him not to let go. All would be well, but in the meantime…

This was going to hurt.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So - that just happened. But hey - Ianto saved Phil!
> 
> Anyone know how to remove the stupid effing hyperlink? You can click it, if you'd like - it's the number for the "Serghei Lunchevici" National Philharmonic in Chisinau, the capital city of Moldova. No idea why it's inserting a hyperlink, though. Didn't on the last one. I tried some things from the Google, but they didn't work. Geez.
> 
> Hopefully you can tell which classified ad is from Ianto, and which is from Bucky. Ianto's will always have the pseudonym and the phone number. Speaking of which, Ion Ionesti is another variation of John Johnson. Bucky has moved from Berlin to Chisinau. And I really hope their subtle flirtation is coming through. :)
> 
> Let me know what you think of where this one went!
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	20. Chapter 20

Phil Coulson spun around and realized that Ianto had just stepped between him and that nasty looking spear, keeping it from piercing his heart. He watched in horror and fascination as Ianto, still impaled on the spear, reached out and clutched the stone that was set in it.

Horror because Ianto seemed to be dissolving into pure light. Fascination because Loki didn’t seem to have any more idea what was happening than Phil did. Ianto’s expression was rapt as he seemed to see something more than the interior of the detention chamber.

It seemed to go on and on, and perhaps it did. Or perhaps only a few seconds passed. Phil got the distinct impression that time was irrelevant, in this moment. However long it lasted, it eventually ended as a blinding flash of blue and silver light threw Phil into the wall, winding him.

He could not make his limbs work and was forced to watch helplessly as Loki released the cell, dropping Thor from the helicarrier. Too late, he regained some feeling in his extremities.

“You’re gonna lose,” he said.

“Am I?” Loki seemed to have regained some of is aplomb, though he looked rattled by what had just transpired.

“It’s in your nature.”

It was gratifying to shoot Loki after enough small talk to let him regain the strength to do so, but he chose not to pursue him, after. He looked around and saw Ianto lying on the grating.

“Ianto!”

He loosened the younger man’s tie and tore open his shirt, but something strange was happening. Parts of Jones were invisible. But Phil could see Ianto’s face, and blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth. Coulson tore Ianto’s shirt and used the half not already soaked in blood to try to staunch the bleeding. He tapped his comm.

“I need a medic in detention!”

He tried to remain calm, but the blood flow was slowing, and it had little to do with the pressure he was applying to the wound.

Fury arrived with the medical team. They worked frantically, pulling out the AED and shocking Ianto several times. After the last attempt, Phil looked at Ianto with dread as the younger man lay there with his eyes half-open, staring blankly.

***

“Agent Jones is down,” Fury’s voice was grim as it came over the comms.

“Paramedics are on their way,” a bridge officer informed him.

“They’re here,” Fury said. “They’ve called it.”

Fury returned to the bridge to give Tony and Steve his version of a pep talk. He went into great detail about Jones’ heroic and selfless sacrifice, how much he had believed in the Initiative, and how much he had looked forward to being the Avengers’ handler. He knew that given Steve’s friendship and Tony’s guilt, his words would finally push them to properly work together, now.

Coulson accompanied the paramedics and Ianto’s body to the medical bay, where an unconscious Barton was also being looked over. Natasha stood by Coulson’s side, and the medical team gave them a moment, knowing it would be best not to disturb them.

“Bratishka,” she murmured, running a hand through Ianto’s hair.

“Step back, please,” came a calm voice of uncertain accent.

Phil and Natasha both drew their weapons, training them on the two interlopers standing before them in monks’ robes.

“You’re…” Phil’s weapon lowered as he got a good look at their guests.

“Yes, and there is not much time,” she replied.

The Ancient One stood at the head of the table Ianto had been placed on, and Wong stood at the foot. Together they raised their hands to their sides and closed their eyes. In the next moment, she opened her eyes and nodded to Wong, who remained as he was. She turned to Phil.

“He is not dead. But the Mind Stone pulled him apart, and it is taking a moment for him to pull himself together, again.

“What do you mean?” Phil asked.

The Ancient One reached into Ianto’s left jacket pocket and pulled out the perception filter. She then found his pocket watch and opened the back. Once she closed the back of the watch with the disk inside, the invisibility complication seemed to clear itself up.

“A perception filter?” Phil asked, taking the proffered pocket watch and absently putting it in one of his own pockets.

“Of course,” she smiled. “He is not a sorcerer in his own right, but that does not mean he cannot make his own magic.”

Wong snorted. “He cheats.”

“He uses his knowledge to his advantage,” the Ancient One corrected, and Phil and Natasha both got the impression that this was not a new argument. “He is an honorable man who fights for others. Never for his own gain. It is the reason I agreed to help him.”

Wong muttered, but it sounded good natured.

“What do you mean, he’s not dead?” Phil circled back.

“Hook him up to one of your machines,” she replied. “His heart is beating three or four times per minute. And look,” she pulled back the gauze that had been packed over his wound as the medics had tried to stop his bleeding. The wound looked days old, partially healed.

“What?” Phil frowned.

“He touched the stone when he was stabbed, yes?” the Ancient One asked.

Phil nodded, still staring at Ianto’s chest.

“He will require assistance, to get the blood out of his lung, and to be sure the wounds heal without complication. And he will be very weak, from the blood loss. Wong is helping him with these things, but he must waken soon. There is work to do, some of which only he can do.”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked. She had placed a heart monitor on Ianto’s finger and was watching the screen, which showed a very subtle beat every fifteen seconds, or so.

Ianto wasn’t dead. She sagged with relief.

“He touched the stone. It is called the Mind Stone, and it is… very powerful. Not meant to be handled by mortals.”

“Well you say it pulled him apart, so I’m not certain he did handle it,” Phil snarked.

“But he did,” she held up one of Ianto’s hands, which had both been blistered, but seemed a bit less scorched, now. “And for quite a while, too. I would wager that it told him at least a few of its secrets.” She sighed, looking at her student’s face. So young…

“It…” Phil frowned. “Time seemed to go strange, when he grabbed the stone. I couldn’t tell you if it was seconds or hours.”

“Both, I would think,” she nodded. “Hours in the timeless dimension, but seconds, here. You witnessed, so you got a glimpse of both.”

“It would have killed anyone else,” Phil nodded to himself as the Ancient One turned her crystal gaze on him. “But Torchwood forced his latent abilities, and so he was able to handle it.”

She smiled and nodded. “He was able to withstand it, yes. But understand. It shattered his mind. It is slowly mending, but this is another step in his evolution. He will not awaken as quite the same man that you knew.”

“What do you mean?” Natasha rounded on her. “What are you saying? That he’s some sort of monster, now? I don’t believe it. I _won’t_ believe it!”

“Be calm, lepestochek[1]. In person and character, he will be as he ever was. But his mind will be… unlocked. He is still missing a part of himself, and that will not change as yet, but the rest… He was already quite powerful, and he did not even have full access to his latent potential. Now,” she shrugged.

“What will be different?” Phil asked.

“That is for him to discover and share. But the things you already know of will be enhanced. He will step more fully into his role as a healer. He will have more control over his empathy, as well as his projection. He will require less sleep, eventually. His body processes will,” she looked at Wong. “Speed up, or slow down, do you think?” she asked.

“Yes,” he nodded, keeping his eyes on Ianto.

“What do you mean?” Phil was growing weary of repeating himself. But the Sorcerer Supreme and one of her apprentices had just walked onto their helicarrier without the first difficulty. He was not inclined to antagonize her, provided she had come with peaceful intent.

“I am not trying to provoke you, Agent Coulson,” she smiled indulgently.

Phil got the feeling she was enjoying it, nonetheless.

“His bodily processes will likely speed up, in terms of healing abilities and metabolism, but in terms of atrophy, entropy, and decay…” she shrugged.

“Means he’ll be healthy as a horse, age _really_ slowly, and take a very long time to die of old age,” Wong said. “And it’ll not go easily, for anyone who wants to see him die from other than natural causes.” He gestured to Ianto’s chest to make his point.

“That’s what the lab rats are saying about Steve, because of the serum,” Natasha nodded. This she understood. Well, the serum, she did. “I don’t understand how touching a stone has done this, though.”

The Ancient One nodded. “The stones are not of this earth. Only the most powerful beings that have ever existed have been able to hold them, without being destroyed. Even those who have, throughout history, acted as guardians to the stones have found the responsibility… burdensome.” Her face clouded for the tiniest moment, then cleared.

“So touching it is a big deal,” Phil nodded. “And surviving, having touched it, is even bigger.”

“Yes.”

“Look,” Natasha said, glancing over to make sure Clint was still out, “It’s not like Ianto was ever what anyone could call normal. So you’re saying he’s still not normal, and he’ll age slowly and will be able to heal more quickly.” She shook her head. “Not seeing a down side, here.”

The Ancient One chuckled. “You call Ianto ‘little brother’. You understand him, I think. Surely you have noticed that the less normal he becomes, the more he craves it. He will need help in navigating that, but you are correct. Though he will be altered, he will still be himself.”

Natasha nodded, satisfied. She reached down and kissed Ianto’s forehead, then walked over to the table where Clint was beginning to stir. She ordered him moved into one of the small side rooms.

“Ianto will waken soon,” the Ancient One said to Phil. “And he will know what is required. But do not let him enter the fray. He will be too weak to fight.”

“Okay,” Phil nodded. Then he frowned. “Why did you come?”

“To give him an anchor, so he could begin pulling himself together, again,” she answered. Wong shook his head, but said nothing.

“And to see if he had touched the dark realms,” Phil looked at her sharply. “You would have killed him, wouldn’t you?”

“While there are things that cannot be left to chance,” she smiled enigmatically, “our primary purpose was to provide an anchor. In almost every eventuality associated with Ianto Jones touching the Mind Stone, he stayed in the light. This time was no exception.”

She nodded to Wong, who stared hard at Ianto for another moment before taking a deep breath and lowering his arms. He walked over to her side. “But you are correct,” she continued. “In the one or two futures where darkness touched him, it would have been necessary to stop him.”

The two departed, and within a quarter of an hour Ianto’s heartbeat began to regulate. Within ten minutes more, he was breathing normally, with a healthy heartbeat.

“I don’t understand, sir,” the helicarrier’s doctor looked confused. “His chest was torn open, and his lung was punctured. Several ribs were broken by the blade, and his collarbone was cracked. Now…” he looked at the readings. “No broken bones. Perfectly clear, intact, healthy lung. And look,” he pulled back the bandage, showing an injury that looked a month old, at least.

“This is a Level Nine event,” Coulson looked at the Doctor, who nodded and began making notes on his tablet. “No one is to know the details. Just spread it around that there was an equipment failure, and it turned out he wasn’t as badly injured as first suspected. Got it?”

The doctor looked at Coulson and nodded, his eyes wide. At first Coulson thought the man was being a bit melodramatic, but then he looked over his shoulder and saw Ianto, sitting up on the examination table with his legs swung over the side.

“Hey, you need to lie back down,” Coulson hurried over to Ianto and flapped like a mother hen.

Ianto shook his head. “Someone is screaming,” he muttered, his voice rough. He put the heel of his hand to his temple. “It’s…” his eyes widened. “It’s Clint! When did we get him back?” He slid off the table, and Phil was the only thing that kept him on his feet as his legs gave way.

“Ianto, you need to lie down.”

“Can’t,” Ianto huffed. “Take me to him. I can help.” He looked at Coulson, who was hesitating. “He’s in agony, Phil,” he said.

Coulson tugged Ianto’s left arm over his shoulder and took as much of the younger man’s weight as he could, walking over to the room where Clint was now confined. As the door opened, Natasha was unbuckling the restraints holding him to the bed.

“Clint,” Ianto gave his friend a lopsided smile.

“Hey, man,” Clint looked him over. “You look like hell.”

Ianto was pale – much more so than normal – and sweating, leaning heavily on Phil as they hobbled into the room. His clothes were shredded and covered in blood.

“’m alright,” Ianto muttered, huffing for breath and feeling really sore in the lung and rib area, despite being healed. He’d have to get more information on that, later. But Clint needed help, first. “Will you let me check you out? I think I can help heal some of the damage from the things Loki did.”

Clint eyed him closely. Pale, sweaty, his eyes just a bit too bright. Under normal circumstances, no way he’d let someone who looked that strung out anywhere near his brainpan, but desperate times, and all that. He felt as though there were ants crawling around in his head, and he was sorely tempted to go find a gun to make it stop, for good.

Clint nodded.

Ianto sat on the bed, hip-to-hip with Clint, facing him. He took Clint’s head in his hands and leaned forward. It took all of Clint’s self-control, not to lean back. He loved Ianto like a brother; didn’t mean he wanted to kiss him.

Ianto chuckled. “’m not gonna kiss you, ya twpsyn.”

Clint’s breaths had been coming in uneven gasps, but as Ianto touched his mind (and wasn’t that the craziest thing!), his breathing normalized. Where everything had been hot and sharp and prickly, he now felt a soothing coolness washing over him. Everything that had been torn apart by Loki’s assault began to mend. He actually felt it all, knitting back together, again.

All of a sudden, and for the first time in days, Clint felt incredibly calm. The clawing guilt was assuaged by the silent assurance that it wasn’t his fault. Had he been in control, he would not have done any of those things. There was nothing to forgive, because it had not been his fault. It had not been _him_.

For the first time, he truly understood Sergeant Barnes’ plight. Oh, sure. Before, he’d thought he understood. But understanding an abstraction was far different from walking around in the skin of the reality.

He shook his head as Ianto released him.

“Better?” Ianto asked. If possible, he looked even worse.

Clint nodded. “Thanks,” he said, his voice quiet and sincere. He got up and headed to the ensuite to wash his face.

Ianto stood, taking Natasha’s head in his hands and pressing his forehead to hers. “He managed to shake you up, too,” Ianto muttered, his voice full of compassion and devoid of criticism. She visibly relaxed as he helped her mind begin to mend, as well.

Once he released her, he looked around. “I need a shirt,” he said.

Natasha eyed him. “Why?”

“All hands on deck, I’d imagine. We need to get to New York.”

“How do you…”

Just then, Steve walked in. “Natasha, it’s time to…” he trailed off. “Ianto!”

He was across the room in a few steps and wrapped Ianto in a bear hug before anyone could tell him to handle the younger man gently. They needn’t have, though. Steve wrapped his arms around Ianto and hugged him with surprising gentleness.

“They said you were dead,” Steve half-laughed, half-cried as he released Ianto, his eyes bright.

“His heart slowed to three or four beats per minute. The medics weren’t able to find his pulse, so they called it,” Phil said, hoping Steve wouldn’t think anyone was trying to manipulate them, though Cap would likely conclude that Fury had certainly used the circumstance to his advantage. “Honest mistake, with all that was going on.”

Steve nodded. He clasped Ianto by the arm. “I’m glad they were wrong,” he said, then turned to Natasha, all business, once more. “We need to go.”

“Where?” she asked.

“I need a shirt,” Ianto looked around as though one might be lying around.

Steve gave him a surprised look, but Coulson shook his head and turned to the counter behind him. Steve looked back at Natasha and said, “I’ll tell you on the way. Can you fly one of those jets?”

Clint stepped out of the bathroom. “I can.”

Steve looked at Natasha, who gave a small nod. “You got a suit?” he asked Clint.

“Yeah.”

“Then suit up,” he turned to go.

“I’m coming with you,” Ianto said.

Steve turned back just as Phil jabbed a needle in Ianto’s neck.

Ianto clapped a hand to his neck and turned to Phil, his eyes narrowed. “Ti ffycin wanker,” he slurred, even as he fell over.[2]

Steve caught him and grinned. “That didn’t sound flattering.”

***

[1] Little petal

[2] You fucking wanker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Ianto just called his boss a wanker.
> 
> Hope everyone is doing well and staying safe. Thanks for reading! :)


	21. Chapter 21

Ianto was only out for about an hour. He came to and, much to the consternation of pretty much everyone in the medical bay, commandeered a set of scrubs and a pair of trainers and headed to the bridge.

“Oh, _hell_ no!” Fury shouted. “Back to med-bay, Agent Jones.”

“Reporting for duty, sir,” Ianto replied defiantly. “Has anyone reached out to coordinate with Torchwood and UNIT?”

Ianto swayed on his feet, but stayed upright out of sheer bloody-mindedness.

Fury looked at Coulson, who shook his head and turned back to his monitor, where he was calling out bogies to some of the teams on the ground, trying to keep the fighting from spreading too far from the primary battle being fought by the Avengers.

Finding his second to be of shockingly little use, Fury threw up his hands. “Fine. Colonel Mace is being a pain in my ass.”

Hill cleared a work station and Ianto shambled over to it. He put on a headset and called Torchwood, first. The rift had gone absolutely apeshit in some sort of resonance with the portal opened by Loki, and they were barely treading water. He then called UNIT, and had Colonel Mace deploy a few support teams to Cardiff before they began navigating a response to the current crisis.

He put Mace on hold when the Council decided to nuke New York and Fury couldn’t stop the bird from taking off. Ianto silently pitied the pilots that defied Fury, but only for a moment. He didn’t return to the call until they had confirmation that Stark had survived his fall back through the portal. Then he calmly returned to the line and informed the colonel that the situation was in hand, and SHIELD would welcome UNIT’s assistance in mopping up the mess.

Mace was not best pleased, but Ianto was relentless in prising the colonel’s agreement that SHIELD would run point on cleanup, using UNIT personnel for manpower. By the end of the call, he had managed to shore up SHIELD’s recently diminished numbers, while extracting UNIT’s agreement that all scavenged tech would be compiled by SHIELD before shared out with other agencies.

“How did…” Fury could only point, though he did manage to shut his mouth as Ianto concluded his call with Mace. Fury had always found the colonel difficult and uncooperative. And yet Jones had just gotten everything they needed, _as well as_ everything they wanted from the man.

“No idea,” Coulson shook his head. “But then again, I have no idea how he’s even still upright.”

“You sure he wasn’t dead?” Fury was still trying not to be royally pissed that the Ancient One and one of her minions had come aboard, uninvited, but he had a gut feeling that without their help, Ianto would have slipped away rather than be back on the bridge so soon, persuading other agencies that they _wanted_ SHIELD to spearhead the response.

“Pretty sure.” Coulson shrugged. “But this has gone on, long enough.” He strode over to where Ianto was downing his fifth half-litre of water. “Agent Jones, I am ordering you to stand down. Go find some food, a shower, and a bunk, and not necessarily in that order.

Ianto looked at him, frowning. “There’s still work to do, sir.”

“Perhaps, but not by you. Go. Sleep. There will still be work for you to do, in the morning.”

Ianto sighed. “All due respect sir, but I’m the only one here with experience with this sort of thing.” He looked around and shook his head. “Granted, not on this scale, but still. I know what needs to be done. Please let me help.”

“Ianto, you still have dried blood all over you, you’re dehydrated, and it’s clear that you’re barely staying upright.”

Ianto gave Coulson a mulish look. “I’m fine, sir. I have an action plan drawn up, and the first briefing is in ten minutes.” He handed Coulson a sheaf of papers. “We need to mobilize quickly, before the civilian population starts looting the alien tech. And there needs to be a response – I believe the Doctor assisted UNIT in drawing one up, back in the seventies.”

Coulson nodded. “A version of it was used, after the Daleks moved the Earth.”

For a moment, Ianto was back in the hub, making a last stand against the Dalek that had broken through the cogwheel door. He gave his head a little shake and returned to the helicarrier. “Yes. But since this was a localized battle rather than a global occupation, and the Chitauri were a force that we could actually fight, the aftermath and response will be different.”

Coulson agreed. “Will you be able to tailor the response?”

“First draft,” Ianto handed him another sheaf of papers.

Coulson looked at the papers in his hand, and then at Ianto.

“You sure you want me to have a nap, Dad?”

Coulson didn’t smile until he’d turned away. “Don’t be a smart-ass. And if you fall over during the briefing, I _will_ point and laugh.”

“Deal,” Ianto turned back to his terminal.

***

In the end, Ianto pretty much created the response, then set the foundational steps in motion. Between old Torchwood One protocols (actually useful, for once) and an edited version of the Doctor’s plan pilfered from UNIT (Fury and Coulson pretended not to wonder how Ianto got his hands on it), he was able to map out a course of action for the first few weeks following the incident. Coulson began implementation as Fury dealt with the fallout from the Council, but there were many details that Ianto needed to flesh out in order for Coulson to know how to proceed.

Within twelve hours of the end of the battle, Ianto gave up on trying to rehydrate with water and let Hill call one of the doctors to the bridge. They set an IV, and Ianto proceeded as though that was perfectly normal. For all anyone knew, perhaps it had been, at Torchwood Three.

He was already becoming a bit of a legend because of the ousting of Hydra. That hadn’t changed, really. Now everyone just assumed he was a _mad_ legend.

Thirty-six hours after the end of the battle, Stark, Rogers, Romanoff, and Barton returned to the helicarrier after a hearty meal, a shower, and a hell of a long sleep, followed by an equally hearty breakfast. Steve was almost fully recovered, but the others were moving slowly, still sore from the battle. They all stared in shock as Agent Jones finished another coordination meeting and made his way slowly back to his workstation, using an IV stand to steady himself.

He was the only one on the bridge who had yet to take a break. They couldn’t make him stand down, and Fury knew that at some point he and Coulson would have to deal with his insubordinate refusal to leave when they told him to. But he had been right. He was the one who knew how best to proceed. His plan was brilliant. He kept telling them that he only needed another hour or two, to finish preliminary preparations, and then he would take a break.

(But the last time he’d said that had been four hours ago.)

“Has anyone had a chance to check on Myfanwy?” Ianto asked.

“I looked in on her,” Clint replied with a smile. “She’s fine.”

Ianto nodded, looking relieved.

“They said you died,” Tony blurted.

Ianto glanced at him, mask firmly in place. “Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated."

“I think it’s ‘Reports of my death’,” Hill pointed out as she strode up. Half her face was purple from the tumble she’d taken when the grenade went off, but the cuts were healing well.

“I was paraphrasing Twain, not quoting him,” Ianto sniffed, and Hill chuckled. She handed him a report, which he quickly scanned. “Move two more teams to intercept, please,” he said, handing the paper back to her.

“I didn’t find out that you didn’t, until after the battle,” Tony went on, speaking to the back of Ianto’s head as the younger man leant over his computer station and typed a message.

Ianto hit ‘Send’ and slowly straightened, knowing he needed to stop soon, or he’d embarrass himself by falling over. “Still here,” he muttered, taking a tablet from another agent. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Tony hissed and reared back as though Ianto had slapped him.

Well…

“That’s not…” Tony sputtered. “Look, can we talk?”

“Bit busy,” Ianto said, absently scratching at his shoulder, where dried blood was still flaking away. He felt gross. He smelled worse, and he knew it. He needed to stop, but he just _couldn’t_. There was too much to do. He couldn’t do much, but he wanted to do what he could. He wanted to help. He _needed_ to help.

Otherwise, what use was he?

He was so tired and such a wreck he didn’t realize he had muttered all of this aloud. Thankfully, only the four friends – well, three friends and Stark – crowding around his workstation heard him.

“Christ,” Tony ran a hand over his face. This was on him, at least in part. He now had confirmation that he had opened up old wounds, and at a time when Ianto had been at his most vulnerable. “I’m not the first person to say those things to you, am I?” he asked. “Who else? Your father call you ‘nothing’, too?”

Tony couldn’t help himself. He knew he was pushing, but he wanted to talk to Ianto. He wanted them to hash things out. But he didn’t know how to ask, rather than demand. So he blundered, instead. He was a bull in a china shop.

A very, very _cold_ china shop.

Everyone shivered as the temperature on the bridge suddenly dropped by twenty degrees, and not in a metaphorical sense, despite Ianto’s talent for giving a killer cold shoulder.

The four Avengers were the only ones who saw Ianto’s eyes glow a bright blue with a swirl of silver before he closed them and drew in a deep breath. The sensation receded and the bridge’s temperature returned to normal.

Fury gestured with his head and Coulson strode over. He spoke quietly, so no one besides those surrounding Ianto could hear him. “Okay, Ianto. That’s enough. You’ve given us a start, and you need to stand down, before you really lose control.” He took a deep breath. “I’m giving you the choice to leave voluntarily.”

Ianto blinked. He knew he’d pushed too hard, defied Fury and Coulson too much. And he knew that this time, Phil would follow through. He wasn’t certain he could handle that kind of humiliation. Actually, he was deeply ashamed of having forced Phil’s hand, like this. He slumped and swallowed hard, looking down.

“I apologize, sir.”

Phil reached out and grasped Ianto’s arm. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. You’ve given us what we need to get a jump on this – more than we would’ve had, otherwise. Thank you, for that. But we’re going to need you healthy, for the long haul. Can’t have you passing out, and you look like you’re going to, any minute, now.”

Ianto sniffed and nodded.

“Go to med-bay. Let them check you out. Hopefully they can unhook you from the IV. Then get a shower. I’ll have a meal sent to the guest quarters in half an hour.”

“Guest quarters?” Ianto’s head shot up.

“Call it a thank you,” Phil said, giving Ianto’s arm another squeeze before releasing him. “Go on, now.”

Ianto reached down and logged out of the system, then turned towards the door. He just stood there for a moment with a frown, suddenly unsure if he could actually walk that far.

“Ianto?” Phil didn’t like the younger man’s sudden pallor. Then he realized that as soon as Ianto stopped pushing, he lost whatever it was that had kept him upright, all this time.

“Clint?” Ianto reached out his right arm, the one without the IV.

“I’ve got you,” Clint took Ianto’s arm and pulled it across his own shoulders, taking on as much of Ianto’s weight as he could.

“Thanks,” Ianto said quietly as he grabbed the IV stand with his left hand and dragged it along. “How’re you feeling?” he asked.

As they left the bridge, the rest of the team could hear Clint telling Ianto that he was feeling pretty well, all considered. A bit of a headache. They heard Ianto say he might be able to help with that.

“What the hell was that?” Tony hissed. “Tell me I didn’t just imagine that temperature drop, and the kid doing some sort of glowy eyeball thing.”

In the next moment, Thor and Banner arrived, and Coulson herded them all over to the conference area and engaged the sound baffles so their conversation would not be overheard. He told them the whole story – of how Loki had stalked him and Ianto had thrown himself between them to save Phil. How he had touched the stone in the scepter, how the Ancient One had shown up to tell them that the stone had somehow changed Ianto, in the ways she had described, as well as in ways they had yet to determine.

Thor seemed to know a bit about the stones the Ancient One had spoken of, but not much. He knew the Tesseract was one. He hadn’t realized that the stone in Loki’s scepter was another. He knew very little about the Mind Stone, so he couldn’t contribute much to the conversation, other than acknowledging that he had heard of it. He promised to speak to his father about it when he returned to Asgard, and let them know what he discovered.

Tony shook his head. He still didn’t know how he felt about this whole sorcery and psychic power and magical glowing rocks gig. But Thor was taking it seriously. And he had seen what it had done to Clint. Hell, he’d _felt_ what Loki had tried to do to him. And even _his_ ego wasn’t so huge that he couldn’t admit that there were things out there beyond his understanding.

At least, for now…

He’d actually had a really long conversation with Clint before the others had shown up for breakfast, that morning. And it was his friendship with and respect for the archer that allowed him to get past his disbelief. He knew that if anyone could overcome any sort of control, it was likely Clint. That he hadn’t been able to do so was disconcerting.

That and feeling how Ianto had shielded them in the lab before everything went to hell went a long way to convincing him that maybe there was something to what the kid had been saying all these months, after all.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Tony's coming around. Next up is his apology. It takes him pretty much the entire chapter to get it out, though. Haha
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe and sane, and taking good care of yourselves.
> 
> Thanks for reading - let me know what you think!


	22. Chapter 22

Clint helped Ianto to the med-bay, where the doctor fussed over the Welshman, but declared him well-hydrated enough to remove the IV. He gave Clint a bottle with two pills in it and instructions for Ianto to take them, once he had eaten. Then they made their way to the guest quarters, where Ianto headed for the ensuite to wash away the past few days’ blood, sweat, and fear.

The guest quarters Phil had told Clint to take Ianto to were fairly large. There was an ensuite bathroom and a sizeable bed on one side, and on the other was a conference table for meals and so visitors could have a private space for internal meetings.

While Ianto was showering, Clint let the others in, along with meals for them all. Coulson had told them everything, and they shared with Clint the parts he hadn’t already known about. Tony was quiet and thoughtful as he digested everything he had learned in the past few days.

When Ianto emerged from the bathroom, he only had a towel wrapped around his waist, having left the clean scrubs they’d given him in med-bay on the bed and not realizing everyone had joined them. None of his friends had seen him completely shirtless, before, and they gaped. His torso was covered in scars, a roadmap of quiet heroism and horror.

Some scars were so old they were thin and pale, and could only have been from childhood. Some were burn scars from the Battle of Canary Wharf. One was a Weevil bite. The scar from Pierce’s knife was still fresh enough to still be a vivid pink against his pale skin. And the latest injury, though only a couple of days old, was healed, though it was still an angry red slash against the bruising caused by the blade of the staff breaking through his ribs.

The scar and bruising would be the last bit to clear up, in the next few days. Based on what he was seeing and knowing what the injuries had been, Steve was certain Ianto’s healing factor was now quite similar to his own. No new injury would leave a scar, but the old ones would likely remain, at least for a few decades. But they told a story of someone who had faced more than most, and had survived it all.

When Ianto saw everyone staring at him, he went a bit pink. He headed to the scrubs he had left on the bed, and quickly turned his back to put pull the bottoms on, under his towel. He then tossed that aside and pulled on the top, not realizing he was giving them a further eyeful with the acid burn down the back of his left shoulder and scapula and the deep, gouging scars from where a Hoix that had slashed at him, across his mid-back. Thankfully, Jack had been in the process of knocking Ianto away from the lethal talons when they struck, and he had only been painfully injured, rather than lethally wounded.

“Man, your ex-girlfriend must have some serious fingernails,” Tony quipped, feeling the need to say something sarcastic to keep from cursing. He was shaken at the sight of all of those scars on a self-described _archivist_ (Ianto rarely owned up to the amount of field work he’d ended up doing at Torchwood Three). And what the _hell_ could leave claw marks like that, anyway?

“Tony,” Banner sighed. This was not the way to go about apologizing. By now, even Bruce knew that Tony owed Ianto several apologies.

Ianto’s shoulders tensed at the joke, but when he turned, his face was still that awful, neutral mask. “It was a Hoix, actually.”

Thor’s eyes grew wide. “You survived a mauling by a Hoix?” he asked, his voice filled with awe. He’d been clawed by one, himself, and he could not recommend the experience.

“What the hell is a Hoix?” Clint asked.

Thor pointed. “And that burn! That is how you knew that bilchsteim have acidic saliva!”

Ianto snorted as his head ticked. “Yeah. Best not to let one drool on you.” He’d been holding Jack, who’d been killed by one of them, almost bitten in half. He thought they were clear, but one of them circled back. It had been charging, bearing down on Ianto when Toshiko shot it.

She felled it, but its drool had… splattered, a bit as Ianto had instinctively turned away to cover Jack’s face. She’d felt terrible, but as Owen patched him up, Ianto had assured her that he preferred a small(ish) burn to being gored by one or more of those angry antlers.

“How is it you have encountered creatures that no one else on Midgard has even heard of?” Thor asked.

Ianto shrugged. He looked around the room and realized they all had clearance, now. “Torchwood Three watches over a rift in time and space. One end is anchored in Cardiff. The other… moves. A lot of stuff tends to wash up, there. And a lot of other things are attracted by that.”

Thor nodded thoughtfully. “I have heard of such portals through space, but not time.” He gave Ianto a long, considering look. “That is dangerous work.”

Fury had spoken to Thor when they locked Loki in a temporary holding facility, after the battle. Had asked him to join the team. Be an Avenger, helping Midgard… _Earth_ , when the need presented itself. He had agreed, but had inwardly bristled when Fury told him that the young coffee server was to be their handler.

Then he remembered that he had caught a glimpse of the man’s abilities when he shared his defenses with them in the lab, and Thor well knew that if the stone in Loki’s scepter was indeed an Infinity Stone, the coffee server must be fairly powerful to successfully shield seven people from its effects, no matter how briefly.

Now, the more Thor learned about Ianto Jones, the more he approved of the idea that the young man would be the Avengers’ handler. He was young, but he was unnervingly experienced. He was by far one of the most advanced humans Thor had met, and yet humble enough to serve them coffee. It showed he cared about them as much as any mission they might be sent on, and Thor derived great comfort from that.

“It is,” Ianto sat heavily in the only open chair at the table and nodded. He looked absolutely haggard.

“Eat,” Natasha nudged his food closer to him.

Ianto stared at it for a moment, then unfolded the napkin and placed it in his lap. He picked up the spoon and took a sip of the soup, and hummed his approval. “This tastes like…” he frowned.

“Like your favorite soup and sandwich lunch combo from the Midtown Deli?” Tony asked. He smirked at Ianto’s look of surprise. “I took the liberty of bringing along lunch. Mess hall food…” he gave a dramatic shudder.

Ianto fought the urge to throw down the spoon like a stubborn child. Much as he’d like to, he hadn’t eaten in days, and it _was_ his favorite. Damn it. And he felt like he might actually be able to keep it down. “How did…”

“Jarvis remembers everyone’s orders,” Tony said before stuffing his sandwich into his face.

Ianto stared at the food for a moment, then drew in a breath. “Thank you,” he said. As confusing as it was, it was a thoughtful gesture, and he’d not allow it to go unthanked.

Tony shook his head, once again impressed by Ianto’s graciousness. He owed Tony nothing, except perhaps an ass-whooping for all of the horrible things Tony had said to him over the last six months. And yet he’d thanked Tony, for such a small thing, and despite being unable to hide his bewilderment at the gesture.

With Natasha watching over Ianto, they all ate companionably. Everyone finished their lunches, but Ianto only made it through three-quarters of his soup, and only took two bites of his sandwich. But given it had been the only thing he’d eaten in days, and after the stress of being injured and of coordinating the clean-up, it wasn’t a bad effort.

As they pushed away from the table, Clint handed Ianto the pill bottle, and the younger man swallowed the pills.

“Think I could talk with you for a minute, before those kick in?” Tony asked.

Ianto pinched his nose and closed his eyes. “I don’t think I’m up for one of our little chats right now, Tony,” he said quietly.

Tony sighed. “I get it. I’ve been a dick. But would it help if I told you I want to apologize?”

Ianto dropped his hand and looked wearily at Tony, his baffled expression saying Tony had just started speaking Jadoon. “What?”

Ianto’s expression might have been funny, under other circumstances. He looked as though Tony had begun to speak in tongues. The others were looking from Tony to Ianto as though watching a tennis match. He didn’t like an audience, but he was willing to make this public, for the sake of the team. And also, for Ianto’s sake. Tony hadn’t hesitated to call the kid ‘nothing’, tearing him down and humiliating him in front of half the team. This could be part of Tony’s penance.

“Look, kid. I was out of line.” Tony squirmed. “I’d just watched my parents die. And not in an accident, like I’d thought, which had been bad enough. But to see them murdered…” he closed his eyes against the memory of that grainy, soundless image that had been the feature presentation in his nightmares, since Ianto had shown him the footage.

“I’m sorry,” Ianto said quietly, and Tony’s head snapped up. “I should have given more thought to how to break that to you.” He sniffed. “But it didn’t seem right, for you to find out some other way, from someone you didn’t know.” He looked at Tony, his tear-filled eyes turning impossible shade of blue. “But I screwed up and made it all worse. I’m so sorry, Tony.”

Tony slumped, rubbing his face with both hands. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. He got up and moved around the table, and Clint got up, allowing Tony to sit next to Ianto. He sat and faced the younger man. “I wasn’t angling for an apology from you, Ianto. You did the right thing. You were right, data was flying everywhere, and I did stumble across it, a couple of days later. It’s… You were right. It was better, coming from you. Not as much of a jolt.”

Ianto’s eyes were cast down, and a few tears had spilled. Tears for having caused Tony pain. No thought regarding the amount of pain Tony had inflicted, in turn.

“Hey,” Tony reached out and clasped Ianto’s arm. “Quit beating yourself up, kid. You did the right thing. And there was no way you could have done it, that wouldn’t’ve hurt. But it wasn’t as bad as other ways I could have found out.”

Ianto gave a shaky nod, and swiped impatiently at the tears.

“Like I said,” Tony went on. “This isn’t about you letting me see the truth. This is about how I reacted. I…” he hesitated. “This may come as a shock, Ianto, but empathy isn’t exactly my strong suit. Some things, it’s hard for me to have compassion for, because I can’t wrap my head around them. I… In that moment, I couldn’t separate what I’d seen from what had been done to Barnes. All I saw was Barnes… _killing_ them.”

Ianto nodded. “I know. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Tony sighed. “No, you were right to. If you hadn’t sidetracked me, I would have hunted him down and killed him. And then had to live with it. But you got in my way.” He huffed. “Jesus, kid. You made me so _angry_.”

Ianto nodded. “’s alright. Knew you would be.” He sniffed.

Tony frowned. “What do you mean?”

Ianto shrugged. “Had to be me, or the rest of you could never have pulled together, when the world needed you to.”

“Christ,” Tony sat back and looked at the ceiling. “So you provoked me, got me to point it all at you… for the team?”

“Knew what you could do, if you all pulled together,” Ianto looked around the table before glancing at Tony and looking down, again. “Knew Fury was right.”

Tony was pinching the bridge of his nose, trying not to let out an exasperated groan. Essentially, the kid had thrown himself onto a grenade. _Jesus_. “So what you’re saying is that you did the right thing, for the right reasons, and in the best way possible. Great. Glad we’ve got that sorted out.”

“Tony,” Natasha hissed.

“But that’s not my point,” Tony continued, ignoring her.

“Tony, look. I’m really knackered,” Ianto said. Whatever pills he’d gotten from the med-bay were starting to kick in. He wasn’t feeling very steady.

“Just hear me out, okay?” Tony asked. “I’m doing a shit job here, but I’m trying to apologize for what I said, that day. And since.”

“It’s all right, Tony,” Ianto gave him a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and he couldn’t meet Tony’s.

“You think I’m apologizing for saying it, but that I meant it, anyway,” Tony was staring hard at Ianto. “You actually think the bullshit I said when I was out of my head with anger and grief was true.”

“You’re not the first to say it,” Ianto shrugged.

“Still doesn’t make it true,” Tony said, reaching out and grasping Ianto’s shoulder. “Tell me you hear me.”

Ianto sniffed. “Spent the first ten years of my life getting it beaten into me. The next fifteen having life just kind of… reinforce it.”

All of Tony’s worst fears were confirmed. And he knew that Ianto was too doped up and exhausted to realize this was playing out in front of the entire team. He looked around the table at the expressions of concern and horror.

Ianto sniffed again. “Sorry. None of you wants to hear about this. I’ll find you a new handler when I wake up.”

Okay, so not too doped up and exhausted to realize.

“You do that, and I’m off the team,” Tony was the first to reply.

“Likewise,” Clint said.

“Count me out,” Steve chimed in.

“You think I’m going to take orders from anyone else?” Natasha asked with a smirk.

“Hey, you won me over, just with the decaf,” Bruce said. “First time since the accident that anyone’s tried to make me feel halfway normal.”

“Our strength and wisdom are derived more from our defeats than our victories,” Thor said thoughtfully. “I would trust you to be a more appropriate handler than someone who has known no adversity.”

Ianto let out a soft sob, and Tony pulled him into a hug, wrapping his arms around the younger man whose hands had grabbed great fistfuls of the front of Tony’s t-shirt. He placed a hand at the back of Ianto’s head, holding him steady as he buried his face in Tony’s neck. He felt the wetness of a few tears and forced his mind away from the idea of snot.

“I said something that I knew would hurt you. Not because I knew it was true, but because I suspected you’d be afraid it _might be_ true. I kicked you when you were down. It was cruel of me, and I regret it. It’s not true, Ianto. I didn’t mean it. I certainly don’t believe it. I’m sorry, kid.”

Tony kept whispering these things into Ianto’s hair as the younger man quickly calmed himself. He was an absolute wreck, and Tony’s apologies did make him feel better, but they were also difficult to believe. He’d been working on it with the SHIELD therapist, and even the Ancient One had spoken of his need to heal the old psychic wounds his father’s conditioning had caused, but he just wasn’t there, yet.

And it’d been a busy few days.

Tony released Ianto and he found a clean napkin to blow his nose. He was dizzy and almost delirious with fatigue. Whatever pills the doctor had given weren’t helping matters. He suspected Phil had requested some sort of sedative.

Clint helped him get to the bed, where Natasha pulled back the covers before Ianto collapsed unceremoniously onto it, either asleep or unconscious before she could even tuck him in.

***

**_Moldova Suverana_** _  
(Moldova Newspaper Classified Ads)  
  
_

_Found: One Cold War relic. Decommissioned, as is best. Of unapologetically American origin. Restoration excellent, despite annoyingly persistent graffiti. Safe storage doubtful. Just saying._  
  
---  
  
***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this version of Ianto is so strong and capable, but also a complete mess. Is it weird that he's both? Hope not...
> 
> And Tony finally apologized - yay!
> 
> Next couple of chapters go off on a bit of a tangent before we meet Ultron. I mentioned I've completely demolished the MCU timelines, right? 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think - comments are like catnip.


	23. Chapter 23

“What do you mean, Loki’s scepter is missing?” Fury asked angrily.

“It’s disappeared, sir,” Hill answered, looking annoyed, herself.

Coulson pulled out his phone. “Ianto, do you have a moment?”

It had been ten days since the attack. Once they finally got him to rest, Ianto had slept for almost forty-eight hours. As soon as he’d passed out, one of the doctors had set him back up with a fresh IV with fluids and nutrients. And sedatives.

The incident on the bridge had rattled Coulson and Fury. They figured it would be in everyone’s best interest if Ianto was well-rested and in full control of whatever his abilities were, now. They had no intention of outing him, but they did want to ensure he wasn’t a danger, to himself or anyone else. His tendency to not take care of himself had the potential to make him a menace until he got a handle on the changes the Mind Stone had precipitated, so they had the doctors help give him a nudge.

He was only given a small dose. Smaller than the one that had only put him out for an hour, the day of the battle. But it was enough to allow his exhausted body to keep him asleep. When he woke, Ianto was clear-headed enough to offer his apologies for defying orders. But secretly, he did not regret the groundwork he’d laid for cleanup and recovery before checking out for a few days.

They were back at SHIELD headquarters, in New York. It had escaped damage from the attack, and it was easier for most of them to do their work from their own desks. Ianto was with them, within minutes.

“Everything all right?” he asked, entering Fury’s office.

“Who did you send after Loki’s scepter?” Coulson asked.

“Collins and Richardson,” Ianto frowned. “Why?”

“Can’t find it,” Hill said.

Ianto blinked. “I’ll track it down,” he said, turning and leaving again, so distracted he didn’t stop to ask if they needed anything else.

Ianto spent several days tracking the movements of the scepter, only to discover that, rather than secure it once he had it in hand, Collins had ridden around with it in the back of his car for three days before handing it off to an inexperienced agent to take to the archive. That agent had then been bullied into handing it over to an older agent. Unfortunately, that person was actually one of the Hydra agents who had snuck back in to try to capitalize on the pandemonium after the battle.

Collins didn’t know what had hit him, by the time the irate Welshman was done with him. Coulson followed up, suspending the agent and letting him know that his return to the field as a fully qualified agent would be subject to an extended probationary period.

Fury had wanted to can him, but Ianto had come to his defense, saying he was normally a good agent and should be given the chance to redeem himself. Ianto recommended a zero-tolerance probation, instead. The inexperienced agent was ordered to go through field training again, followed by a less extensive probation.

Ianto began programming facial recognition to see how many other Hydra agents snuck back in while defenses were otherwise engaged. He discovered that there had been almost a dozen incursions, but thankfully only a few were successful – the only one of note resulting in the theft of the scepter.

Ianto began tracing the Hydra agent who had taken the scepter. He knew that Fury and Coulson suspected that he was using more than just SHIELD resources, but they were kind enough to turn a blind eye and let Ianto get on with it.

(Ianto may or may not have had one of Toshiko Sato’s backdoors into Torchwood’s Mainframe.)

Mainframe could do so much more than anyone realized. For instance, she could piggyback on any computer or satellite signal in the world and track down any individual, assuming she knew whom she was looking for.

The program had purportedly died with Tosh. No one knew she had completed it, except for Ianto. And he knew where she buried her projects until they were ready to see the light of day. He had pilfered several incomplete projects soon after he left Torchwood, taking them off of Mainframe and squirreling them away so he could tinker with them later, at his leisure.

But the search and tracking tool required Mainframe to run it, so it lived in a faraway corner of her memory, in a sequestered area that looked like a dead spot from any perspective other than the backdoor only Ianto knew how to use, now.

He didn’t feel that guilty, really. The incomplete projects never had any potential usefulness for Torchwood Three, and he didn’t trust the likes of Gwen Cooper (or Jack Harkness, with Gwen Cooper’s claws in him) with the search tool.

Tosh had called it Bloodhound. It used every public CCTV system, every private camera that used any sort of WiFi, and all available satellite footage. If the program was only looking for one person, it had a very high rate of success, as long as that person went outside at any point during daylight hours.

It was frightening, really.

(Ianto had almost scuttled it, but then Sergeant Barnes had done a runner…)

Ianto fully recognized his own hubris and hypocrisy, not to mention the creep factor, as he was technically a bit of a stalker, now, checking in on Barnes once a week. But he did not feel it was safe for anyone else to know about the tool. He knew _he_ would not abuse it. He could not say the same about Torchwood or SHIELD with enough confidence to share the secret. Plus, he felt like he was honoring Tosh’s wishes. After all, there was a reason she’d kept it hidden, well after she’d finished it.

***

In the months after the battle. Ianto kept himself busy, helping with cleanup and recovery, tracking down Loki’s scepter, and also trying to help with the more personal damage Loki had inflicted. The Welshman sought out every victim of Loki’s mind control and, after obtaining their permission, healed them.

He was a bit surprised to realize that no one turned down his offer to help. After all, one would think they would be leery of having someone else mucking around in their brains, after Loki. But word travelled fast, and seeing the two most affected (Barton and Selvig) completely healed from their nightmare experiences convinced the rest to allow Ianto to help.

It was slow going. Ianto could only help one or two people each week. Any more would cause crippling migraines because he was not just healing their damage. His friends could tell there was more to it than that, but they did not push. Rather, they watched over him more carefully, which touched and exasperated him, in turns.

About three months after the battle, the Avengers Initiative broke away from SHIELD. It was an amicable split, based on the team’s need for independence and SHIELD’s need to remain more behind the scenes. Ianto remained the team’s handler and coordinator (and babysitter and alas, teaboy), but he remained on SHIELD’s payroll and submitted mission reports to them.

As it turned out, his liaison position was the key to keeping the politicos at bay. The unnamed man who had almost single-handedly brought down Hydra was the only choice they could have no reasonable objections to, as the bridge between the Avengers and SHIELD.

***

Ianto and Tony slowly rebuilt their friendship. Ianto had forgiven Tony – he’d learned long ago that forgiveness was the best, and sometimes the only, option, though it did take work, sometimes. The more difficult task was dealing with the damage that Tony’s words had unearthed. But now that he was able to see and acknowledge it, he was able to heal it from many angles, asking the Ancient One to help with the psychic damage as he dealt with the emotional fallout with his therapist. For the first time in his adult life, he felt like he was making progress.

Tony spared no expense in getting Stark Tower rebuilt as quickly as possible. He had renamed it the Avengers Tower before the dust even settled. He and Pepper carefully designed the top twelve floors of the ninety-three story building, and then when the Avengers separated from SHIELD they invited every member of the team to move in. As an extra sweetener for their handler, Tony opened up the seventy-seventh floor so the side opposite the landing pad on the eighty-first floor was open-air.

There were forcefields and environmental regulators and security measures in place, but Myfanwy could come and go as she pleased. The entire floor was a tropical paradise, complete with a cave lined with doggie beds and a little bell she could ring to dispense small nibbles of dark chocolate.

She absolutely loved the place.

Ianto tried very hard not to notice his certainty in knowing the pterosaur’s thoughts and feelings on the matter. But he was relieved that she was happy in her new home, and the team’s attentions kept her loneliness at bay. He often found Steve communing with her. Two creatures out of time. Ianto did all he could to comfort both of them, and he was happy that they found comfort in one another’s company, as well.

Ianto’s apartment was on the eighty-seventh floor, with grand, sweeping views of a city he’d never thought he’d find himself growing so fond of. It was a beautiful place, and for some reason, it felt more like home than any he’d previously occupied. Steve, Natasha, and Clint lived on the same floor. The four often found themselves in the communal kitchen, though, so they could share meals with the rest of the team.

Having worked together for months, the team now meshed incredibly well. Not only did they all get along, they all felt comfortable in one another’s company. They were closer than friends. They had become a family. They looked out for one another. They even trained together, ensuring everyone was strong so they could all stay safe. Ianto was even included in the training sessions to hone his skills, should they ever be needed.

They all made sure they knew all they could about the Mind Stone and how it had affected Ianto. Thor had brought back information from Asgard, saying that Odin had been surprised that a Midgardian had survived handling the stone. He had provided quite a bit of information. Some useful, some downright terrifying.

They learned about the six Infinity Stones, singularities of power from the very beginning of creation. It came as no surprise that the Tesseract was one. According to the Allfather, the Mind Stone governed the very fabric of the mind. Whoever held it could exert complete control over the hearts and minds of others.

The team quickly realized that in Ianto, one of the ways in which the Mind Stone’s power had manifested was as a facilitator of healing. In Ianto’s hands, the control that could be exerted was directed in such a way as to benefit others, but his rigid code of ethics where this particular use of his new power was concerned meant that he never used this ability without the express consent of whoever it might be directed at.

To Ianto, the mind was sacrosanct. After what Mary had done to Toshiko, and that Billis Manger had done to all of Torchwood Three, he was adamantly opposed to interfering without permission, though he knew he might have to, if someone who needed help could not give consent. Even so, the very thought of doing so made him feel ill.

He felt uncomfortable enough with what he had done to Sergeant Barnes. But tearing down the barrier between Bucky and the Soldier had been an accident, and fixing it had been the only option, as leaving him as he was would have been dangerous. And cruel. He had kept the classified ad thanking him, and drew comfort from the assurance that there was only gratitude, and no anger or recrimination in it, despite how he may have deserved the latter two.

The question nobody was asking, but everyone was trying to answer, was what else the Mind Stone had done to Ianto. Clearly healing was a huge part of it, both in terms of Ianto’s physical healing and his ability to facilitate the healing of psychic wounds in others. But it was clear that the Stone’s impact on the Welshman was not limited to that.

In many ways, Ianto couldn’t even answer that question, himself. The changes were somehow both subtle and profound. His intuition was stronger, so he more often knew how to use a skill that he may have previously struggled with. He still trained with the Ancient One and Wong, and he shared with his friends those things he was ready to discuss. But they well understood his need to acclimate, so they never pushed, trusting him to tell them, when he was ready.

***

Bloodhound had tracked the Hydra agent who had absconded with the Loki’s scepter as far as the Ukraine, but then lost him somewhere in the Balkans. Wherever he was, he knew to stay hidden. He had to be completely off grid, for Ianto to not pick up any trace of him.

Over the next months, he ran Bloodhound weekly to search for the man, with no success. He had thought about expanding the search to include other fugitive members of Hydra known to still be on the run, but chose not to. At one point there had been several hundred, but SHIELD had located several of the secret bases.

One base in Belarus had not been located until after it had been destroyed in a spectacular fashion, using far more good old-fashioned TNT than had actually been necessary. A fat envelope of wallets, passports, and other credentials had been conveniently mailed to SHIELD, helping with the identification of the bodies found in the compound. No return address, though Ianto suspected they had been posted from Moldova.

Ianto kept very precise lists. He’d begun with a list of all known Hydra agents, including recruits. With each battle, more names were struck from the list. His best estimate was that Hydra was down to about a hundred strays, now, most notable among them being Baron von Strucker and Dr. List.

Precisely the types you _don’t_ want messing around with a mystical stone of creation, and that thought kept Ianto up at night, because a lot of mischief could be accomplished, in a mere six months’ time. (After all, he’d taken down Hydra in less.)

Given the small number of known agents left, and the fact that Bloodhound couldn’t find any of them (Ianto randomly selected one person each week), he guessed that there was probably only one base left, undoubtedly heavily fortified and defended.

And because they had hidden themselves so well, he could not zero in more closely than the Balkans. The trail had gone completely cold. Until one day, almost six months after the Battle of New York, it warmed up again.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a bridge, but we're headed into the Winter 'verse's version of Age of Ultron, now, with a slight detour in the next two chapters.
> 
> As background, in my mind, Tony created Ultron because Wanda Maximoff had compromised him. And the only way he could do that was if Ianto had been absent during those three days between the Avengers recovering Loki's scepter and the big party to celebrate the recovery. So I had to come up with some reasonable excuse for Ianto to be out of New York those three days; otherwise, he would have noticed that Tony had been compromised, and fixed it.
> 
> My solution may or may not be a bit bonkers, but it came to me, and I had to write it. Hope you all enjoy. It's up next.
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe and sane - let me know you're out there! Comments are everything! :)


	24. Chapter 24

**_Moldova Suverana_** _  
(Moldova Newspaper Classified Ads)  
_

_Found: One increasingly rare (you're welcome) freshwater polyp. Can be examined as convenient day trip from city. Found within the robes of a recent degree holder._

_Alba?_  
  
---  
  
***

Ianto stared at the ad. Alba?

Scotland.

_Seriously???_

He grumbled and huffed, then gave a shrug as he went to pour more coffee. At least he hadn’t asked if Ianto was English. He gave a shudder. That would have put paid to any attraction that he could never admit to, anyway.

Not after what Tony had said.

Besides, he doubted Barnes would ever come back. And even if he did, by all accounts, Barnes had been straight, before Hydra got their hooks into him. And some of their means of punishment…

Ianto gave another shudder, and this time he felt cold and alone. He quickly checked his boundaries and made sure he hadn’t shared that with anyone. He took heart. Even if his banter with Barnes in the classified ads was the closest he’d come to flirting with anyone in ages, it was nice. A bit of harmless fun. He missed flirting. Used to be pretty good at it…

Ianto knew Steve had been looking for Bucky. Had even recruited his friend Sam Wilson, also known as Falcon, in his search. The two had met running in the park and had become fast friends. Sam worked at the VA, but had been open to doing some moonlighting, occasionally going on missions and helping Steve in his search.

Ianto knew that it was only a matter of time before Sam was offered a place on the team, and he was pleased. He liked Sam. Hell, everyone did. But Ianto felt a bit guilty, knowing that Steve and Sam were spinning their wheels, in their search. But he also knew that Bucky was not yet ready to be found, so he kept his own counsel.

Another thing he’d have to take the heat for, later…

He sighed and turned back to the ad. This was the first time Barnes had reached out to him, initiating a conversation rather than merely giving a reply. Ianto would have considered it important, even without reading it. Mention of a freshwater polyp told him it was about Hydra. He smiled at the ‘you’re welcome’, which confirmed his theory that Barnes had gone after that base in Belarus.

He pulled up a map and looked at locations that were within a four hour radius of Chișinău. He frowned. Robes of a recent degree holder…

And then he saw it. To the south of Chișinău, just the other side of the Sokovian border, was its capital, Novi Grad. New graduate. He grinned.

Within the robes... He pulled up a satellite image of the city. There, on the outskirts, he saw it. The _curtain_ walls of an old castle.

He found a significant heat signature within the castle, which was enough justification to scramble the team. They were en route within the hour. Coulson and Ianto accompanied them as far as London, where they were dropped off. Jarvis would oversee the mission – a trial run for the AI.

Ianto had tried to beg off and go with the team, but Phil had insisted they stay in London to ensure they could keep their appointment, the next day. It amused the others, who knew that there was a surprise in store for their handler. They were excited for him.

No one mentioned that they had been invited, as well, and planned to attend, if they could wrap up the mission, in time. But even if they couldn’t make it, at least Phil could be there, and Fury and Hill planned to attend, as well.

Ianto and Phil settled into the hotel, and Ianto monitored the mission as it unfolded. But he didn’t intercede, allowing Jarvis to take point. He only broke in when they temporarily lost contact with Tony. Ianto’s head swam a bit, and he had a sudden realization.

“The two enhanced,” he said. “Whatever they’ve got, they got it from the Mind Stone.”

“How do you know?” Steve asked.

“Not sure, but I just do,” Ianto answered. “Tony, what just happened?”

“Nothing,” Tony answered, but his voice sounded strange to Ianto’s ears. “I’ve got the scepter. Heading out.”

Banner and Stark headed back to New York with the injured Barton. Ianto checked in every hour to be sure the archer was all right. It wasn’t until the following day that he realized that the others had been dropped off in London, as well.

***

When he woke the following morning, Ianto was nervous. He didn’t know what was going on. All Phil had told him was that the Queen had requested a special audience with him, and he might want to bring a good suit. Not really necessary, that. Ianto always wore his best suit to see the Queen. He had no idea what was happening, and only grew more uneasy as the driver who picked them up took them out of London and headed west.

It was almost noon when they arrived at Windsor Castle. Ianto got out of the car and looked at Phil.

“You can’t tell me anything?” he almost pleaded, and Phil felt a stab of guilt for the well-disguised apprehension on his friend’s face.

“Only that it’s nothing to worry over,” Phil said, brushing non-existent lint from the shoulder of Ianto’s exceptionally fine suit in a gesture of comfort and support.

The gesture did calm Ianto, and soon enough they were being led through the castle, heading towards one of the state rooms. But as they approached the Waterloo Chamber, Ianto’s steps slowed.

“Who’s in there?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically betraying his renewed uneasiness. “There are a bunch of people in there, and some of them are…” he swallowed, unable to locate the precise word. He closed his eyes and gave that little headshake. “Angry?” That wasn’t quite right. He turned to Coulson. “Phil, what’s happening?”

“It’s all right, Ianto. I don’t know why you’re picking up anger, but this is a good thing. How about seeing if you can pick up anything else?”

Ianto frowned and closed his eyes, canting his head. Yes, beneath the simmering unpleasantness was happiness and excitement and pride. He didn’t understand, but he trusted Phil. He took a deep breath and reinforced his shields, then settled his shoulders a bit further down his neck. He nodded to Phil, who smiled at their escort, and they proceeded.

When they stepped through a great set of doors, Ianto felt even more disorientated. He was stood next to a Yeoman of the Guard as Phil was directed to a seat to the right and the doors were closed, once more. Ianto could see that they had entered on the left side of the chamber. To his right were about twenty chairs, facing the slightly raised dais to his left. Not all of the chairs were filled, but he blinked as he realized he knew everyone there.

Phil went to sit next to Nick Fury and Maria Hill. Also there were Thor, Steve, and Natasha. Also in attendance were Jack Harkness John Hart, Martha and Mickey Smith, Gwen Cooper, Rhys Williams, Donna Noble, and Wilfred Mott. He also spotted his sister Rhiannon, and her husband Johnny.

No further need to wonder where the anger and resentment were coming from. Gwen and Rhiannon were practically seething, and Ianto drew in slightly as he felt the full impact of their disdain for him.

His attention was drawn back to his left, and he felt panic begin to rise as he saw the Queen seated on the dais in a fine red and gold chair. An hysterical little laugh rose up in his chest, and he was barely able to contain it as a man in a fine cutaway suit strode towards the podium.

“Heard what ye did,” a slightly familiar voice sounded next to him, and he glanced at the guard, realizing he was one of those Ianto had seen quite regularly, back when he was meeting with the Queen, either with Jack, or on the immortal’s behalf. “Good on ye, mate,” the man’s lips barely moved, but he was giving a small smile as the man at the podium opened the ceremony.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to this special, closed ceremony. I would like to remind everyone that this ceremony falls under the Official Secrets Act, which you have all signed. As such, any events or activities mentioned shall not be repeated, outside of these rooms.”

Ianto felt shaky as he was directed to stand in front of another of the Queen’s men, a member of the Blues and Royals, who was standing before the corner of the dais. Ianto was still facing the right end of the chamber. Somehow, he could hear everyone in the room, though they were whispering.

“Must really think he’s something.”

“Hush, Rhia,” Johnny hissed.

“He didn’t know.” That was John Hart.

“If he had, you think they could’ve gotten him here?” Jack chuckled quietly.

“Maybe surprising him with this wasn’t the best idea,” Maria whispered.

“Breathe, bratishka,” Natasha gently admonished.

Ianto drew in a deep breath and reinforced his defenses. As he began to regain his bearings, the man at the podium continued.

“We are here today to honor the brave and heroic actions of Ifan Wynter[1] Jones, SHIELD agent. It is seldom that a civilian is awarded this honor, and technically Agent Jones was not under military command, but in such rapidly changing times and circumstances, Her Majesty has decided that such valor in the presence of the enemy, whether that enemy is Hydra, a Norse god, or an alien invasion, is deserving of this recognition.

Ianto was already feeling wobbly, again.

What was happening?

“The Victoria Cross was first introduced in…”

The man’s voice faded to a strange warbling and Ianto felt himself take a step back, as he sucked in a shocked breath. His knees went strange, and the only thing that held him up was a strong hand as the guard he was standing in front of discreetly grasped his elbow.

“Never a good idea to spring something on a fighting man,” the man muttered so quietly, Ianto almost missed it. “But her Majesty wanted to surprise you.”

Ianto swallowed another hysterical laugh.

“Jus’ keep breathing, sonny.”

Ianto would later swear that that hand at his elbow was the only thing that kept him from bolting from the room, that day. He did as he was told and took another breath, and another, and soon the speaker’s voice came back into focus.

“Therefore, on this one-year anniversary of the purging of Hydra, we take this opportunity to honor the man who precipitated the fall of that terrible shadow from our midst. We also honor his actions leading up to and following the Battle of New York, stepping between a fellow agent and the blade of Loki of Asgard’s scepter, and then spearheading the cleanup in the aftermath of the battle…”

Ianto zoned out, again. The hand stayed at his elbow – he speculated that perhaps the guard’s job was to keep Ianto from running. He had a few moments where his mind gibbered a bit, imagining making a break for it, only to be rugby tackled by Her Majesty. But he slowly pulled himself together as he was given a gentle nudge to step forward.

He strode to the middle of the dais and turned towards it, then bowed to his Queen before stepping closer. She met him at the edge of the dais, the medal hanging from a wine-red neck ribbon that she held in both hands. He bowed his head again, allowing her to place the ribbon over his head, settling the medal a few inches below the knot in his tie.

She smiled and reached out, brushing her fingers through his hair where the ribbon had ruffled it. “Thank you, Ianto. The world owes you a debt.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Ianto replied, his voice quiet and his eyes cast down.

“I see now it was a shock,” she said, looking a bit regretful.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he smiled, raising his eyes to hers. “A bit.”

“Well, I apologise for not giving you any warning of this, my dear. Though given the look on your face, I’m fairly certain this was the only way to ensure you would have shown up to receive it.”

Ianto gave a soft chuckle, amused that her thought had echoed Jack’s.

“There will be a lunch reception in a few minutes, and then I hope you will stay for tea, after. I would very much like to hear about your adventures, since leaving Torchwood.” She gave him a gentle smile. “I have missed our little meetings, Agent Jones.”

“As have I, Ma’am,” he returned her smile.

“I am pleased to see you healthy and well, Ianto. I understand you were injured in both of the fights discussed today.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Ianto smiled warmly at her. “I recovered well from both.”

She nodded thoughtfully, then leaned a bit closer and smiled conspiratorially. “I am glad some of your team were able to make it, today. I am hoping you will introduce me to Captain America. I,” she giggled, and Ianto felt another set of brain cells implode, “I had quite the crush on him, when I was eighteen years old.”

Ianto smiled, knowing Steve’s enhanced hearing had picked that up, and he could practically feel the man blushing behind him. He could also hear Jack, John, and Thor, with their acute hearing, chuckling. “I’m sure he would be pleased to make your acquaintance, Ma’am.”

“Good,” she smiled again, then leaned closer and kissed Ianto on the cheek, eliciting several gasps from those in the crowd who were her subjects. She then reached out and wiped the smudge of pale lipstick from his cheek, giving him a wink and another smile.

Ianto returned her smile, feeling great affection towards her. In the next moment, she extended her hand. He took it gently and shook it before stepping back and bowing again, then turned and walked through the door on the opposite side of the chamber from where he had entered.

The room beyond was clearly the reception room, and he quickly made his way to the far end, asking the Guard by the door for directions to the nearest toilet. He was thankful he ran into no one before reaching the lovely room, where he locked the door and collapsed onto the floor.

***

Natasha gave him exactly three minutes, then picked the lock and followed Ianto into the fancy restroom. Steve and Phil discreetly followed. She found Ianto sitting in a heap on the floor with his back to the wall, staring at the medal in his hands. She slid down the wall to his left, and Steve sat to his right. Phil sat on the bench that was placed along the wall opposite them.

“You all right?” Natasha asked.

Ianto sniffed. He felt stupid for being upset.

“It’s okay to feel overwhelmed,” she said, seeming to pick up on his negative self-talk. “We should have thought that through, and maybe given you a warning.”

“Yeah,” Steve shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Hell, you practically get hives if any of _us_ try to give you credit for something.”

Natasha leaned into him, bumping shoulders. “Probably something to work on, with your therapist. No reason for you not to take credit, where credit is due.”

“It’s one thing to take credit,” Ianto snorted. “But the Victoria Cross? That’s another matter, entirely. It’s for war heroes. It’s for those under military command. It’s for people who haven’t done the things I’ve done.” He looked at Steve. “Tell me you get this.”

Steve shrugged. “Clearly they made an exception, or maybe even set a new precedent. What you did, Ianto…” he sighed. “You are her subject, and she wanted to recognize you for the extraordinary things you’ve done, since joining SHIELD. This fit most closely within the existing structure. Hey,” now he bumped shoulders with Ianto. “Just because it’s unprecedented doesn’t mean it is undeserved.”

Ianto shook his head. If Steve didn’t understand, he wasn’t certain how he would explain to them how this felt so _wrong_. How he felt like a complete imposter. Gwen and Rhiannon only confirmed it.

Which should have been enough to give him pause…

“Ianto, you listen to me,” Phil said, his voice holding more authority than usual. Ianto looked up, startled at the tone. “You brought down Hydra. Do you have any idea how important that was, not only to SHIELD, but to the world? Even Jack Harkness confirmed that, though I’m certain he didn’t mean to. But I shudder to think how they might have chosen to step forward, when they felt the time was right.”

“And you saved Phil from Loki,” Natasha added. “Might not mean much to the world, but it means the world to us,” she smiled.

Phil smiled back at her before turning back to Ianto. “And cleanup has gone as well as anyone could have hoped, because of your planning in those first hours after the battle was over. In anyone else’s hands, that would have been a logistical nightmare.”

Ianto gave another sniff. He seemed to be calming. His shoulders had relaxed back to where they were supposed to be, rather than up around his ears. And he had the smallest smile beginning to form.

“Now we may not have considered what any of this looked like from outside of SHIELD and New York, but apparently, your monarch saw fit to recognize your efforts,” Phil smiled, his voice gentling, once more. “I’ve heard a lot about how sharp she is…” he trailed off, and Ianto smiled and nodded. “So I’m not sure you should question her decision.”

Ianto actually chuckled, at that.

“C’mon,” Natasha stood, brushing herself off. “Let’s get you off the floor and make sure you haven’t wrinkled this suit.”

They all stood, and she and Steve took a moment to help Ianto adjust his clothing. Of course the floors were sparkling, so he wasn’t dusty from sitting on them. And the one or two wrinkles fell out as they smoothed the material.

“This really is a gorgeous suit,” Natasha muttered, running her hands over his shoulders and down his back.

Ianto had gotten the suit during his last couple of visits to London. His favorite tailor on Saville Row had recommended a fine Super 150s wool from Barberis that he had procured. It was a shade of midnight that was technically a blue but only a shade or two shy of black. It had an elegant drape and was quite exquisite. It was his best suit – one he’d splurged on, for weddings and formal events, but it was just unassuming enough that he could get away with it for day wear, if the occasion called for it. And he was now relieved that he’d felt that an audience with the Queen did indeed call for it.

“Thank you,” Ianto replied quietly, handing the medal to Steve as he straightened his tie and adjusted it beneath his waistcoat. He’d worn a tie with alternating blue and navy university stripes with a white shirt, a safe and elegant choice for an audience with the Queen. Now he was glad he had not opted for anything more daring or less formal.

Once he was composed, Steve handed him the medal and he pulled it back over his head, settling the ribbon over his shirt collar and beneath his suit coat. His face was pale, but he was relieved that his skin wasn’t splotchy, and his eyes looked tired but were not red from crying. He looked far more poised than he felt, and he was grateful. He leaned against the countertop and bowed his head, gathering his defenses, once more.

“You said you felt anger in the room, before we went in,” Phil said. “Who was angry?” He’d scanned the room and saw mostly very pleased and proud people.

“Cooper looked as though she’d swallowed a lemon,” Natasha said with a smirk.

“Gwen was peeved, but it was Rhiannon who was angry,” Ianto sighed.

“Why?” Steve frowned.

“She probably only came so she could tell everyone back home that she’d met the Queen,” Ianto said, looking sad. “But when they got here they were made to sign the Official Secrets Act.” He shrugged. “Wasted trip.”

“Well, at least the food looks good,” Natasha turned the conversation with a wicked grin. “How about we go enjoy some of it?”

***

[1] White or fair, light-skinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... according to my research, the Victoria Cross can be awarded to a civilian, under military command, in the face of the enemy. I couldn't find an award for a civilian not under military command, but still in the face of the enemy. But this seemed to fit, and hopefully disbelief can be suspended accordingly, as it was an interesting way to explore some of Ianto's worthiness issues, as well as keep him out of New York, for a few days. 
> 
> Oh, and I love the idea of an 18 year-old Princess Elizabeth having a crush on Captain America. And I am equally smitten with the idea that her girlish giggle destroyed some of Ianto's brain cells. We all know that Steve will be sweet and gracious, and make an old lady happy. :)
> 
> And then there's the whole bit where Bucky is teasing Ianto, asking if he's Scottish. And Ianto has completely missed the fact that Bucky is flirting with him every bit as much as he's flirting with Bucky...
> 
> What think you of Ianto's middle name? Was looking for a traditional Welsh name and ran across this, completely by accident, because it was only on one of the several sites I checked. It was just too perfect to resist, given the aptness of its meaning and the title of this work and a certain... compatibility that will unfold.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter - thanks for reading! :)


	25. Chapter 25

The reception and luncheon were a pleasant affair, for the most part. Gwen did her best to chat up Steve and Thor, though Ianto did steal Steve away at one point in order to introduce his friend to the Queen. If Thor was cross about that, he chose to keep it to himself so as not to spoil his friend’s important day. But he would later confide in Coulson that the Cooper woman was a bit much.

Thor gleaned enough from chatting with Gwen that she detested Ianto, and enough from Ianto that while there was almost certainly bad blood, he was too kind-hearted to openly hate anyone. He ended up talking to Rhys and Johnny and thoroughly enjoying listening to them talk about some sort of Midgardian ritual called the Rug Bee.

Martha and Mickey were happy to see Ianto, and Martha’s hug went on for a surprisingly long time before she let him go and told him how proud she was of him. Mickey and Rhys both shook his hand and they spoke for a while before Rhys went to talk to Thor and Mickey introduced himself to Natasha.

Until now, Ianto had only spoken with Donna on the phone, giving Torchwood Three’s newest archivist plenty of tips and training. He very much enjoyed meeting her in person, and speaking to her grandfather, as well.

He frowned as he saw her touch a hand to her temple.

“Are you all right?”

“Bit of a headache,” she smiled.

“Our Donna has a lot of headaches,” Wilf said sadly, giving Ianto a meaningful look.

Ianto knew Donna’s story, of course. He remembered her, from that day the Earth moved. Jack had told him what the Doctor had been forced to do, to save her. He stared at her for a moment before saying, “This may sound strange, but I might be able to help.”

She gave him a shrug. “Jack and John have already tried. I assume you mean something similar?”

Ianto nodded. “But only if you’d like me to.”

She shrugged again. “Sure.”

They stepped into a smaller parlor, with Wilf following, and Ianto gently pressed his forehead to Donna’s. He spent about five minutes just smoothing over all of the inflammation, and then realized that was pretty much the extent of the problem. Whatever the Doctor had done (and Ianto could just make out what that was), it had been complete. There were some failsafes that he knew not to touch, and he left them intact, but he was able to heal the damage done by the forcible fix-it that had saved her life.

When they returned to the reception room, everyone was still mingling. Donna looked several degrees healthier, and Ianto looked several shades paler. Wilf looked as though he’d be willing to get down on his arthritic knees and kiss Ianto’s feet.

Jack congratulated Ianto, looking pleased and proud. John grinned and offered his congratulations, as well, before wandering off to flirt with Nick Fury.

You know, just to piss him off.

“Hate to break it to you, but you really can’t get out of the first dozen or so awards that Lizzie wants to give to you,” Jack said confidingly.

Ianto sighed. “I’m glad someone appreciates what a fraud I am,” he muttered.

Jack’s head whipped around. “That’s _not_ what I meant. I know what you did, Ianto. More importantly, I know what it means, that Hydra has been eradicated from SHIELD.” He shook his head and continued. “I only meant that I know you would have turned it down, given the choice. And I figured I’d warn you that you’ll not be given that choice, any time soon.”

In the next moment, Rhiannon and Johnny walked up, as well as Natasha.

“Ianto.”

It was clear that the Jones cold shoulder was hereditary. It was all Jack could do not to shiver.

“Rhiannon,” Ianto nodded to her, and then to Johnny. “Johnny. Thank you for coming.”

“Weren’t given much of a choice, were we?” Rhiannon sniffed.

“Ah, don’t listen to her, mate,” Johnny smiled nervously. “She’s just disappointed she won’t be able to brag that her brother just got the bloody Victoria Cross.” He puffed up. “Did you really do all that ninja spy stuff they were talking about? And get stabbed?”

Jack chuckled, and Ianto shrugged.

“Don’t be daft. It was some sort of political thing, to get into SHIELD’s good graces,” Rhiannon said. “Ianto could never do any of that bollocks they were spouting.”

“I assure you, he did all of that, and more,” Nick Fury now weighed in as he and Coulson strolled up to the group. “And Her Majesty has no need for political machinations, when it comes to relations with SHIELD.”

“We’ve always gotten along rather well, actually,” Phil added cheerfully.

“I suppose you’d know,” Rhiannon sneered.

“As Director of SHIELD, I suppose I would,” Fury returned her sneer and added in a stink eye of his own.

Rhiannon’s smirk faded into a look of mild shock, and everyone was relieved when invited to be seated for luncheon. For a formal affair, it was a pleasant enough meal, with most of those in attendance familiar enough with one another for conversation to flow quite pleasantly. At the Queen’s insistence, Jack sat on her right, and Ianto on her left. As usual, Jack regaled them with preposterous stories.

Natasha sat to Ianto’s left, and she checked in with him often. His panic over the award had been simultaneously understandable and baffling. But she thought she understood, now. At least a portion of his unbalance was undoubtedly due to the hostility rolling off of his sister like musk off an ox in heat. Natasha wasn’t even and empath, and she could feel it.

She wondered how much trouble she’d get in if she were to give the Welshwoman a swirly in a Windsor Castle toilet.

Both Welshwomen, actually. Cooper was seriously getting up Natasha’s nose, too. By some twist of fate, Rhiannon and Gwen were seated together, and they seemed to form a fast friendship based on an irrational but nonetheless mutually held disdain for Ianto.

Once the meal was finished, the Queen commanded everyone’s attention. “We realized too late that we took Agent Jones by surprise with today’s proceedings, but now that he’s had the opportunity to regroup, we would like to see if he would care to say a few words.”

Ianto turned pink to the ears, and for a brief moment Natasha wondered if she would have to restrain him. But he rose from his seat, perfectly composed, despite his blush. “Thank you, Ma’am,” he bowed his head towards the Queen. He looked around the table, smiling sadly. “I admit, it was a surprise, seeing everyone, receiving this,” he reached up and touched the medal hanging from his neck. “I came up in Torchwood, see. By design, its heroes were always meant to be unsung.”

He sighed. “But that was when the existence of aliens could still be hidden, obfuscated, and denied. It’s a shame that so many people gave their lives in battles that no one will ever know about. Lisa Hallett. Suzie Costello. Toshiko Sato. Owen Harper. Too many others to name, really. And so many more who have done so much, and no one can ever know. Two Time Agents, a Nightingale, a Preacher,” he paused when Martha sniffed, and smiled as Mickey wrapped an arm around her, “and the most important woman in all of creation.” His eyes met Wilf’s for a fraction of a second, and the old man smiled with pride.

“And now there can be no more denying aliens, and we’ve entered the age of superheroes and super-spies and super-annoying billionaires,” he smiled, and Steve snorted as Thor laughed heartily. “Make no mistake. They are the ones doing the real work. They are the ones who have fought and sacrificed and bled. And if I am to receive this honor, then it is only with the understanding that I share it with all those who have not. Because they are far greater heroes than I could ever aspire to be.”

Once more he looked to the Queen, who was smiling kindly up at him. He bowed towards her and finished with, “Thank you for the honor, Ma’am. I hope you will allow me to accept it on behalf of all those who cannot.”

“Dear boy,” she answered, smiling proudly.

He blushed again as those around the table clapped. Everyone with whom he had shared the credit felt honored by the warmth and love he had expressed. Well, everyone except for the one who had been inadvertently excluded. She was the only one who noticed that she had not been specifically mentioned in any of the lists Ianto had made for them, though doubtless she was meant to be included under the Torchwood umbrella. It did not endear him to her. But nor did anyone else, in that moment. Because apparently she was the only one who noticed the omission. She sat back, fuming.

Ianto was not aware of his gaffe. But nor would he have been overly concerned, had he realized. Gwen had done little enough to endear herself to him, and it had been many months since he had felt the need to spare any thoughts for her.

“Let us toast Ianto Jones,” Thor boomed, raising his glass. “His heroism is matched only by his humility. I would have accepted no one else as handler!”

“Handler?” Rhiannon asked after the toast, looking confused. She was met by looks of consternation from those from Torchwood, as well.

“Agent Jones is the Avengers’ handler,” Phil informed them with a pleased smile. He wasn’t certain how that hadn’t gotten at least as far as Torchwood, but he was happy in the knowledge. But this room was protected by the Official Secrets Act, and he saw no harm in allowing it to be known now, on SHIELD’s terms. He caught Fury’s eye and saw a small smirk affirming his choice.

“Oh, Ianto, that’s wonderful!” Martha exclaimed.

“Congratulations,” Jack raised his glass in Ianto’s direction, causing Gwen to scowl.

“What does that mean?” Rhiannon asked with a look that matched Gwen’s.

“It means he’s their wrangler, coordinator, cat-herder, and nanny,” Phil answered, smiling.

“In other words, still just a teaboy,” Gwen snorted triumphantly, ignoring the frowns and glares from around the table and basking in Rhiannon’s nasty laugh of approval.

“Technically, he’s still a SHIELD agent,” Coulson continued as though she hadn’t spoken, “but he’s on secondment to the Avengers. He reports back to SHIELD and arranges for any transfers that may need to happen.”

“Transfers?” Mickey asked.

“Well, Stark has plenty of tech, but every now and then there may be something they need from SHIELD,” Hill put in. “And then if there is anyone needing to be detained, the Avengers aren’t really set up, for that.”

“Detained?” Rhys frowned. “Like arrested?”

“Yes,” Coulson answered. He looked to Fury, who gave a slight nod. “I don’t suppose there’s any harm in saying, we believe the last of the Hydra bases was taken down in an operation yesterday.”

“Congratulations,” Jack said, again. “I know it’s been slow going, finding the last of the secret bases.”

“Agent Jones located it yesterday morning,” Hill said, shooting a smug look in Cooper’s direction.

“Yeah. That happened so fast, I didn’t have a chance to ask how you found it,” Coulson said, looking at Ianto.

Ianto got a remote expression that could have meant he was hiding something, or could simply have meant that he didn’t love the idea of discussing mission parameters in front of so many civilians. He shrugged. “Spent the better part of six months tracking the bastard that took the scepter. Traced him as far as the Balkans.”

“That’s a lot of real estate,” Hart pointed out.

Ianto nodded. “I’ve been monitoring the area, since. Have some resources spread through the area.”

“Resources?” Donna asked.

Ianto looked at her and smiled. “CCTV captures for facial recognition, mostly. Needle in a haystack stuff, but I caught a break with an informant who had spotted something hinky.”

“Hinky?” Jack grinned.

“It’s a good word,” Ianto replied.

Fury raised an eyebrow, and Coulson sat back, looking at Ianto.

“What kind of informant?” Hill asked.

“A confidential one,” Ianto replied, and it was obvious he wouldn’t be sharing anything more.

Jack snickered, but John laughed outright. Martha and Mickey looked amused. Steve, Natasha, and Thor looked unconcerned.

They trusted their handler.

***

After the luncheon, everyone departed, but Ianto stayed. The Queen retired to her private quarters for a rest, and Ianto was given a guest room to freshen up and decompress, for a while. After a shower and a short nap, he dressed and decided to take a turn about the gardens. While only a few late autumn blooms remained, it was still a peaceful place to have a meditative ramble, to clear his head.

A guard found him there a half hour later, and led him to a small parlor where the Queen was seated. Ianto bowed and took the seat she offered, just as tea was brought in. Once they were on their own, she began speaking.

“My dear boy, we owe you several apologies.” She held up a hand to preempt his denials. “We did not realize that springing this on you would be such a jolt. But it is good that your friends were here, to help you with that.” She shook her head. “We should have known better. We know how PTSD works, after all.”

She sighed. “And… Well, I did not realize that you and Jack… Well. I suppose I had an inkling that there were feelings there, but then you spoke of perhaps wanting to join SHIELD, so I assumed I had been mistaken. But… You made arrangements, in case things didn’t work out, didn’t you? And then they didn’t…”

Ianto nodded. It still hurt, even after almost two years.

“And I went and invited them.” She sighed again. “I thought it would be a happy celebration.”

“It was, Ma’am,” Ianto finally broke in. “I was happy to see them. Truly.”

“Well. Some more than others,” she sniffed, picking up her tea. “That Cooper woman. She’s the reason you left Torchwood, yes?”

“No, Ma’am,” Ianto shook his head. “I left because Jack made a promise, and then he didn’t keep it. Her involvement was secondary to that.”

“Yes, of course. And Jack regrets you, I can tell. That is why she was so unpleasant. She can see it, too.” She hesitated before adding, “And we thought your sister would want to be here.”

Ianto hung his head, ashamed. “I am sorry, Ma’am. I… My family is… complicated,” he muttered.

“My dear boy, none of this is your fault. We made so many assumptions in planning for this ceremony. It is unfortunate that so many of the assumptions were faulty, but… You owe no apologies, Ianto.” She sat back and gave a small, almost devious smile. “We shall do better, next time.”

Ianto chuckled.

They drank their tea in companionable silence for a few minutes before she spoke again.

“As a favor to your Queen, it would appreciated it if you would stop getting stabbed, though.”

Ianto laughed. “I shall do my best, Ma’am.”

They spent the remainder of their visit with Ianto answering her questions about working for SHIELD and with the Avengers, and about the missions for which he had earned the medal now tucked away in its box in one of his suit pockets.

***

Fury and Hill had returned to New York after the luncheon, but Phil, Natasha, Steve, and Thor stayed. They took Ianto out on the town that evening, celebrating his award. Clint, Bruce, and Tony called to offer their congratulations, as well.

The next morning, the team left Ianto to return to New York. He had some errands to run, and would follow on a SHIELD transport, the following day. He would be back in plenty of time for the ‘revels’, as Thor called them.

Much as Ianto had come to dislike London after the T1 Tower fell, he found it to be a touchstone. Not Wales, but as close to home as he could manage, at the moment. He visited his tailor and a few other places, and even managed to squeeze in a visit to the National Gallery.

His errands did not take long, but it was good to have some time to himself. He loved living in the Avengers Tower, but it was difficult to withdraw, when he needed a few moments alone. That was mostly his own fault – he had a hard time asking for what he needed, sometimes. But his life had been so lonely, he never wanted to refuse time with his friends, so part of the difficulty was ironically in not actually wanting what he sometimes needed.

In London, there was no one left who knew him, and the others had gone back to New York, so it was just Ianto, on his own. Once his errands were run, he returned to the hotel in the late afternoon, ordered room service, watched whatever crap movies the BBC was showing, and slept until it was time to catch his transport, the following afternoon.

He arrived at the tower just in time to shower and change for the party.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love Ianto and the Queen.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Next up, Ultron!


	26. Chapter 26

Ianto had attended a few of Stark’s parties, by now. This one was a bit more fun, with all the old-timers and the varied guest list. Even so, Ianto was too much of an introvert for such gatherings not to be exhausting.

He was glad when, as the party wound down, it was only the team, along with Hill, Rhodes (another soon-to-be member of the team, if Ianto was reading Steve correctly), and Dr. Cho. They were having a laugh, with the various members of the team trying to lift Thor’s hammer.

It had been hilarious. So far, the only ones to refuse to try had been Hill, Romanoff, and Cho, and Ianto tended to agree with an earlier observation that there was a bit much testosterone in the room.

“C’mon, Jones,” Tony snapped his fingers, and Ianto raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Mr. Victoria Cross,” Clint chimed in. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“I have decided,” Ianto said thoughtfully. “That it’s better to know you’re not worthy, and be okay with that, than to think you are, and be disappointed.”

“Too many words,” Tony shook his head. “Oh, God – you’re one of those cerebral drunks, aren’t you?”

“He’s Welsh, Tony,” Natasha smirked. “Be glad he isn’t composing poetry about death.”

Ianto gave them both a two-fingered salute and nodded to Steve, who shook his head, clearly hoping it would be overlooked that he hadn’t taken a turn. Tony made a crack about fingerprint recognition, and Thor replied with a simpler explanation as he easily hefted the hammer.

“You’re all not worthy.”

Ianto suddenly felt his head swimming. He stood and looked around as a strange new voice said, “No. How could you be worthy? You’re all killers.”

In the next few moments of chaos, Ianto realized what must have happened. He managed to disable one of the attacking Iron Legion that was in his way and got to a workstation, sending through an emergency message to Jack. In the next moment, he locked down the Hub, isolating Mainframe from the rest of the world.

If the Avengers couldn’t contain Ultron, Mainframe could very well be the world’s last line of defense.

“What are you?” Ultron asked, looming over Ianto as he cut the connection to Torchwood. “I feel like I should know you… But there are no records of you. How did you do that?” He was distracted when the last of the Iron Legion was destroyed. “That was dramatic!” he exclaimed. He went on to do the standard super-villain crazy-talk before Thor destroyed the suit he was using as his mouthpiece.

Ianto’s head was pounding, but they all got to work. As they took stock, they began to realize the scope of the problem. Ianto felt a pang for Jarvis, though there was also a tickle of something that made him incapable of accepting that the AI was completely gone. He wasn’t able to finish the thought because in the next moment, Thor was back, throttling Tony.

Tony didn’t exactly help his cause when he started laughing. Justifying why he’d gone so completely around the bend. Tony’s fear and desperation were almost suffocating. Ianto interrupted the fight that was about to begin when he gasped and fell to his knees. “Godsdamnit, Tony!” he shouted, holding his head.

“Were you hit?” Steve was by his side, helping Ianto back to his feet when he realized the younger man appeared uninjured.

“You were fucking compromised on that mission, and you didn’t bother to tell us?” Ianto was still shouting.

“The Maximoff girl. She got into your head,” Steve said, turning to Tony, as well.

“I wasn’t tricked,” Tony said. “I was shown. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was my legacy. The end of the path I started us on.”

“You’ve come up with some pretty impressive inventions, Tony,” Rhodey said quietly. “But war isn’t one of them.”

“I watched my friends die. You’d think that’d be as bad as it gets, right?” He shook his head. “Nope. Wasn’t the worst part.”

Ianto stood and walked over to Tony, putting his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “The worst part is that you didn’t,” he said quietly. “But it wasn’t real, Tony.”

“It was not a trick!” Tony insisted. “It was a vision!”

“Let me see, then,” Ianto said. “Show me.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You think there’s something to fix.”

“Show me.” Ianto knew there was something to fix.

“Fine.”

Ianto felt ill as he realized that something that was now an intrinsic part of him had been twisted in order to cause Tony so much pain and misery that he may well have created something capable of ending the world. He unwound the ‘magic’ that Maximoff had used to prey on Tony’s fears. The energy was the polar opposite of the healing energy that Ianto used. But he took it back into himself, transmuting it to what was good and pure, so he could assimilate it. He took Tony’s pain and fear as well, and smoothed over the damage done by the… assault.

She’d better pray Ianto never got ahold of her…

He spent several minutes ensuring Tony was mending, then stepped away. “You were saying?” he turned and drew a handkerchief out of his pocket, discreetly wiping the blood from his nose before turning back.

Natasha frowned.

Tony shook his head. “It…” he looked at them. “But it was _real_ ,” he said, looking at Ianto.

“Can we please just have a rule that no matter how real it might feel, you check in with me before creating a world ending murder bot?” Ianto said wearily. It wasn’t lost on anyone how pale he had become. “This is a team, Tony. You’re an integral part of it, but you’re not the only part. The rest of the team have a right to know the big decisions you’re making on their behalf.”

“Spare me the lecture,” Tony bristled.

“No, I don’t think I will,” Ianto pressed up into Tony’s personal space and capitalized on his height advantage. “Because you know what, you selfish bastard? If you’d have taken the time for a ‘city hall debate’ and listened to the ‘man was not meant to meddle’ medley, maybe you would have seen that you were fucking compromised!”

Tony’s eyes widened. It wasn’t Ianto’s words so much as his expression that brought him up short. That and… “Why are you bleeding?” he asked, grabbing a napkin from the desk Ianto had crowded him up against and shoving it under Ianto’s nose.

“It’s fine,” Ianto snarled, wiping the blood away and stepping back. “How do we track this thing?”

Tony looked around at the others as Ianto headed to a workstation. “Are we not going to talk about this?”

“ _Now_ you want to talk?” Ianto rounded on him. “Fine. _This_ is a nosebleed. It has no bearing on the team, or how it functions. See? Was that difficult?” Natasha reached out to touch his arm, but drew back when he lifted a hand, palm out, silently asking her not to touch him. He was too angry and was trying very hard not to project it.

“I saw you all die,” Tony said, his voice small and quiet. “And it was my fault. It was because I could have done more, and didn’t.”

Ianto sighed. “I know that hurt, Tony. And I am sorry. But that’s all the more reason to remember. You’ve got at least two people here who’ve actually been through that. Been the survivors, where the _only_ thing more that we could have done was to die with the rest, but we didn’t. It’s a hell of a thing to live with,” he shook his head. “But Tony. For you, it wasn’t real. And that’s a good thing.”

Tony nodded, and Ianto reached out and drew him into a hug. Rare, because Tony wasn’t generally one who liked to be touched. But he clung to Ianto for a few moments before the Welshman just seemed to know when to let him go.

They all broke up and started their search. Ianto found a telegraph and managed to set up a way to communicate with Torchwood. They would be on standby, keeping Mainframe ready for a last line of defense, if their other efforts should fail.

***

Several days passed before they got their first real lead. Strucker had somehow escaped capture, but Ultron had apparently caught up with him. They were going through the paper records for Strucker, looking for anything Ultron may have been trying to hide.

Their search led them to Ulysses Klaue, a smuggler/mercenary/pirate/gun-runner/all-around peach of a guy who apparently had a ready supply of vibranium. The team was soon headed for the Ivory Coast, where Klaue was known to be holed up. Ianto insisted on coming along this time, rather than coordinating from the Tower.

He wanted to be on hand, should they run into the Maximoff twins, again.

The mission very quickly went sideways. First, Ianto and Bruce lost contact with the team over comms as they descended into the belly of the ship. Apparently, it was somehow shielded. Then, as Tony battled Ultron, Wanda Maximoff wreaked havoc with the rest of the team. She managed to get at Steve, Thor, and Natasha before Clint gave her a well-deserved smack. Her brother got her out of there, giving everyone a moment to regroup.

Ianto continued trying to raise the team on the comms, but with no success. Bruce had wandered into the field between the Quinjet and the boat, trying to get a better signal and asking frantically if there was a ‘code green’ that he needed to answer.

In the next moment, he lost himself.

The Maximoffs were gone before Ianto even sensed their presence. Pietro had carried his sister to Bruce, allowing her to attack him before her brother carried her away, again. Ianto’s roar of rage echoed the Hulk’s as he jumped on Natasha’s bike and gave chase.

He reached the Abidjan city center just as Veronica crashed down around the Hulk. Ianto shook his head. Since when did _more_ violence _ever_ calm Bruce down? The ground shook as Ianto raced to where the Hulk had been trapped. It was clear he’d gone underground. Ianto looked around, spotting the most likely place for the Hulk to re-emerge.

In the next moment, he was climbing up through the street. Ianto stood before him, calmly watching. He could feel the witch’s ‘magic’, even from here, and he knew the lullaby wouldn’t work. He needed to get closer.

“Hey, big guy,” he said, his voice soft. He heard Tony land behind him, could feel the sheer size of the so-called ‘Hulkbuster’ suit. He knew that any confrontation would level this part of the city, and he hoped to avoid that, if he could. Tony began to quietly disburse the crowd. Well, as quietly as he could, in that massive suit.

“Bore da, fy ffrind,” he said, allowing his native tongue to lilt.[1]

The Hulk frowned and shifted, staring at Ianto.

Ianto gave a small smile and continued to speak to the Hulk in Welsh, his tone soothing. He spoke utter nonsense, trying to convey peace and goodwill and calm. He opened up every psychic channel he could and projected rainbows and puppies and butterflies as he slowly approached his friend.

“She got you, the way she got Tony,” he said quietly, switching back to English as he saw the Hulk begin to calm. He continued to project, the side benefit being that everyone still on the street was as chill as though they’d just shared a bong the size of Veronica.

Ianto smiled as the Hulk growled. “Remember? Remember how Tony didn’t even realize that she’d gotten to him? I can help, Bruce. Will you let me? She hurt you, I can tell. But I can make it stop hurting.”

Ianto had climbed up onto the hood of an old Range Rover as he spoke, and he was now close enough to touch the Hulk. But he would wait, if he could. Even a manipulated, enraged Hulk deserved choice. Particularly now, after it had been taken away from him by that…

He took a deep breath, releasing his own rage and projecting peace and trust. “Let me help you,” he said, holding out his hand.

The Hulk grunted and lowered his head, and Ianto was able to touch the broad, green temple. He marveled at how soft the Hulk’s skin was. He pressed softly, knowing the witch had hurt him in order to turn him so mindless.

In the next moment, he was fighting for control. The Hulk roared in his face, but did not break contact. Ianto allowed the rage and pain to wash over him and extracted the energy that had driven the Hulk mad. He felt a pulse of power as he assimilated the energy of the spell, setting aside the negative aspects of it to offload, later. That gave him the strength to smooth out the inflamed parts of Banner’s mind, to sooth the pain and cool the rage.

The Hulk roared and growled and grunted a few more times, but after ten minutes, he stumbled backwards, beginning to change back. Ianto closed his eyes and re-engaged his defenses, shoring them up. He made a mental note to discuss the toll this kind of projection took on him, the next time he trained with the Ancient One. Perhaps there was a better way.

One that didn’t hurt, quite so much.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small remote that scrambled any electronics in the area, disabling anyone’s ability to film the Hulk’s transformation back into Banner. Ianto knew that it was a raw, difficult thing for Bruce, and he would not tolerate it being made some sort of spectacle. Once the transformation was complete, he took off his coat and draped it over Bruce’s shoulders, then helped him back towards the bike.

“Was that you?” Tony asked, looking at Ianto. “My comms are down.”

Ianto shrugged. “Sorry. Do you have status on the others?”

“Making their way back to the Quinjet,” Tony replied. “You okay, Bruce?”

Bruce nodded. “Yeah,” he said, smiling at Ianto. “Thanks.”

Ianto nodded, but kept walking. “I give you fair warning. I will kill them both, if we see them again.”

Bruce stopped short, staring at Ianto. It wasn’t like the gentle Welshman to be so wrathful. “You okay, Ianto?”

Ianto gave a curt nod, but kept his eyes ahead and kept walking. When they reached the bike he collapsed against it. “You mind driving?” he asked Bruce.

Bruce looked at Tony, whose system had finally finished rebooting. He offloaded the bigger suit, sending it and the various pieces back to Veronica, which he sent home to retool so it could be redeployed the next time the satellite needed maintenance. Then his helmet retracted so he could take a good look at their handler.

“You’re bleeding again,” he muttered.

“You try dissipating all that rage, without letting it land on anyone,” Ianto snarked, wiping his bleeding nose with a handkerchief. His head was _pounding_. He sighed. “Sorry.”

“Let’s get back,” Bruce said. “If she did this to any of the others, we need to help them.” Too late, he realized that it would be Ianto helping them, and he really didn’t look up to it.

By the time they got back to the Quinjet, Ianto barely made it off the bike before he was heaving his guts out. Clint came out to help Bruce stow the bike, and Tony went in to start his preflight checks. While Bruce checked out Steve, Thor, and Natasha, Clint brought a bottle of water to Ianto.

“You gonna tell us what’s going on?” he asked when Ianto finally stopped vomiting. Lately, every time Ianto healed one of them, it made him ill, and they were all becoming concerned.

“’m fine,” Ianto slurred as he wiped the blood and sweat from his face. He took some water and rinsed his mouth, spitting it out before drinking.

“Jesus, Ianto,” Clint walked away, agitated, then turned and strode back. “Look. You don’t have to tell me what’s going on. I know you’re still trying to figure that out, for yourself. But you need to at least do me the courtesy of not lying to me about it!”

Ianto shrank back, his shielding not yet equal to stopping outbursts like that from scraping painfully against him.

“Shit,” Clint said, reaching out and rubbing a hand along Ianto’s arm, trying to soothe him. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you, all right? You don’t have to say anything. Just don’t…” He sighed. “Don’t lie.”

“Sorry,” Ianto sniffed. He felt wrecked.

“I brought you some aspirin,” Clint held out three tablets.

Ianto swallowed them without thought, washing them down with the rest of his water. He marveled how far he’d come from the days he suspected every pill to be a dose of Retcon. “Thanks,” he said, his voice rough. “That was… hard. I’ll be all right, though.”

“Good,” Clint nodded. He handed Ianto a stick of chewing gum.

“How are they?”

“Not great.”

Ianto nodded. “I’ll see to them.” He looked at Clint. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Caught her sneaking up on me before she could do her thing.”

“Good.”

Once they were in the air, they saw that there was a good deal of backlash, despite there being a very few casualties (all minor injuries) and an uncharacteristically small amount of property damage, for an Avengers-related incident. It was clear that the response was being manipulated. Coulson advised them to find a place to lay low until they could figure out their next move.

Ianto disabled the Quinjet’s tracking device and made a quick phone call before giving Clint a set of coordinates.

“Where we heading?”

“Well, no one knows me. But even if they did, they’d never guess I’d ever use a safe house _there_.”

Clint looked at the map after he plugged in the coordinates. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“I doubt I’ll sleep, but it’ll be a good place to hole up.”

“Ianto…”

“We need to take care of them, regroup, and figure out how to take down Ultron.”

“And the Maximoffs,” Clint side-eyed Ianto.

“Oh, I’ve already called dibs on those two,” Ianto looked absolutely murderous.

Clint sighed. “Okay. Next stop, Brynblaidd.”

***

[1] Good morning, my friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _dun, dun, dunnnn_
> 
> I've lifted some dialogue from the movie, though I've shifted scenes and given different people some of the lines, where it made sense. That will hold true through this story arc, in case I forget to mention it in the next few chapters.
> 
> I know that a lot of things in the MCU are fun, cinematic fan-wankery, but I like for my stories to be a little more grounded, no matter how ridiculous the premise. So I've toned down some of the great 'cinematic' moments, because I feel it becomes a little gratuitous in a character-driven story. So the movies are fun in one way, and hopefully my stories are fun in a different way. Room for everyone at the table, and all that.
> 
> I do wonder about the logic of Veronica, though. I mean, the Hulk is almost impossible to knock out, and logically, trying to beat him unconscious is only going to piss him off, even more.
> 
> Anyway, we're starting to see some of Ianto's powers coming forward, though there is some mystery around why healing others affects him, the way it does. More to come on that, but not until after Sokovia does her swan song.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	27. Chapter 27

As they flew, Ianto looked around the cabin. Steve was pretending to sleep, clearly overwhelmed and hurting. Ianto decided that of the three, he was probably the most stable, at the moment. He wished he could help them all right away, but he knew he must pace himself.

He found Natasha on the floor in a corner, hugging her knees. Her eyes looked bleak and distant. She spoke as he sat down next to her.

“I don’t want you to see,” she shied from him.

Ianto opened himself up and sent her love and acceptance. “You know I won’t judge you,” he said quietly.

She gave a sniff. “You don’t fight fair.”

He smiled. “On the contrary. It’s taking the last shred of my self-control to wait for your permission to help.” She looked at him, and he sighed. “I think you all forget that I’m an empath. I feel your pain like it’s my own.”

“Can’t you block it?” she was coming back to herself, now. Her concern for Ianto helping her to focus and ground.

“Normally, I can. But the magic that did this to you… it lingers, and calls to me. Pulls me in. It’s harder to block because it’s made of the same stuff that has enhanced my empathy.”

“So you’re saying that it will help you, to help me?” she smirked. “That’s a new low, Jones.”

“Yes,” Ianto grinned, “but did it work?”

She gave a huff and shifted her legs so she was sitting tailor-style. He sat before her, mirroring her pose and leaned forward. She stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“Will it hurt?” she looked nervous.

Ianto took her hand. “It will make it stop hurting,” he replied. “You saw Tony, after. And look at Bruce,” he waved a hand in Banner’s direction, where he was lounging with his head leaned back, a small smile on his face as he listened to something using his headphones.

In truth, the uneasiness would remain. But the emotional pain and mental anguish that the magic exacerbated (and in some cases, even manufactured) would be eased.

Natasha stared at him for a moment before giving a curt nod. He pressed his forehead to hers, and she was shocked that she almost immediately felt relief. The burning in her mind cooled, and the heartache eased. Tears began to flow as Ianto extracted the magic and soothed the damage.

“I’m a monster,” she whispered.

“You’re really not,” he whispered back. “Plenty of good people go childless.” He continued to pour soothing energy her way as he spoke. “They were the monsters, for doing this to you, without your choice or consent.”

She gave a quiet sob. When he finished, he held her for some moments before managing to catch Clint’s eye. As Clint sat next to Natasha, she wrapped herself around him and sobbed into his chest.

Clint looked at Ianto, startled.

“She’ll be all right,” Ianto said, giving her hair a soft stroke before giving them some privacy.

Ianto focused hard on not vomiting for the next quarter hour. Once his stomach settled, he checked in with Tony, who was piloting the Quinjet. Then he downed more aspirin with a bottle of water before collapsing into one of the seats, not stirring until he felt them landing.

***

After the cannibals were imprisoned, the crown confiscated all of the property that comprised the village of Brynblaidd and turned it over to Torchwood. Ianto had overseen the demolition as every building was razed, every cellar excavated, every well filled in.

Ianto could never call himself devout, but if asked, he would admit that he followed the old ways. He’d found a shaman to come in and cleanse the land and bless the earth before ground was broken for the new construction. Jack had given him full control over the project, and in a shockingly short amount of time a completely new village had risen from the earth.

They used it as a safe place for aliens who were not quite human-looking enough. The village was far off the beaten path, and there were enough friends of Torchwood that it was a self-sustaining and highly functioning little town. Before he’d left Torchwood, Ianto had placed about ninety percent of its current population. They all knew the Welshman, and he was well-loved for being kind and giving them a second chance at life on a strange planet where everything had been frightening and largely unfriendly.

The town’s mayor met them at the Quinjet when they landed. She stepped forward, regal and – in her own way – quite beautiful. Before opening the bay door, Ianto had given everyone fair warning that there were only a small number of humans in the village, and they should try not to stare.

“You are Silurian!” Thor exclaimed before Ianto could speak.

She gave a slight hiss of alarm at the sheer mass and volume of Thor, but Ianto quickly stepped up to her and bowed over her hand.

“Olina, it is good to see you, again,” he said, his voice soothing. He gestured to Thor. “Thor is of Asgard, and he has more knowledge than Earthlings of other species. I would also like to introduce you to Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, and Steve Rogers. Everyone, this is Olina. She is the mayor of Brynblaidd **.”**

Olina stared at each in turn, her gaze sharp and arresting. But when her eyes fell on Banner, Ianto would have sworn she blushed. “You,” she pointed at Bruce. “You turn a most fetching shade of green, when provoked,” she smiled.

“Uh,” Bruce felt a blush creep onto his own cheeks. “Thanks.”

“You are all most welcome,” she turned her smile to all of them. “We have made up the guest house. There are only three bedrooms, but they are all twins. There is room for everyone, but you must share.”

Ianto looked apologetically at Natasha.

“It’s all right,” she smiled. “Clint and I can bunk together.”

Ianto nodded. He knew that they had been ‘sharing’ for some months, now, but weren’t ready to tell anyone, yet.

“C’mon, Bruce,” Tony clapped Banner on the back. “Let’s get you cleaned up. There are spare clothes for everyone in the Quinjet.” With that, he retreated into the bird and pulled out a bunch of nylon drawstring backpacks, each with someone’s name scrawled across it. Banner ducked back into the Quinjet, as well, looking for his headphones.

Olina led the group towards the house, but looked back when Ianto did not follow. “I’ll catch you up,” he called out.

Thor was pacing. Ianto could tell that the Asgardian would be leaving them.

“Thor?”

“Handler,” Thor stopped and assessed him. “Are you well? Tony said you were,” he canted his head, “’hurling your guts out’, earlier.”

Ianto gave a half-smile. “I’m fine. But…” he looked uncertain.

“What is it?”

“I can practically smell her magic, dripping off of you.”

“She gave me a vision,” Thor said, his stance growing more defensive.

“Like she gave Tony a vision?” Ianto asked, and Thor glared. “Look. Perhaps it’s different, for you. I’m not asking you to forget what you saw. But I know she left a splinter in you, and that it will fester, if you don’t let me help.” Ianto gave an earnest look. “Please. Let me help.”

“Let him help,” Bruce muttered as he wandered past them, handing Ianto a bottle of water. “You’ll feel better, even if you don’t… feel better.”

Thor’s stance softened. He took a long look at Ianto, then huffed. “Fine. But let us walk. I am feeling restless.”

Ianto looked around. Even though the geography of the buildings had changed, he still remembered the lay of the land, as it had been. There was no direction they could walk that would not stir unpleasant memories. He pointed them towards the woods, where Toshiko had fled, that terrible night.

As they walked, Thor leaned towards the Welshman and spoke lowly. “I know why you bleed when you help, Handler.”

“Do you?” Ianto could have been discussing the weather.

“You do not just _give_ ,” Thor said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“You make me sound like a thief,” Ianto said, feeling slightly offended.

“That is not what I mean,” Thor replied. “You give healing and remove pain. But…”

Ianto interrupted him with a shrug. “I’m still figuring it out. But it’s all right. Really,” he insisted when Thor’s eyebrows raised. “I’m a fast healer,” he said, his voice flippant. “Headache’s already gone,” he added.

It was mostly true… The first headache had eased. The second still lingered.

Thor frowned at him. “You think I have been manipulated?”

Ianto shook his head. “I don’t know. It seems like the nature of your experience was different from the others. But I don’t think her magic should stay in your mind, and I can feel where her… invasion… caused some irritation.”

Thor gave a dramatic sigh. “Very well,” he said, and leaned towards Ianto.

Ianto quickly leaned back. “Give me a second,” he chuckled, and Thor stood upright, once more.

After taking a moment to gather himself, Ianto took Thor’s head and pressed their foreheads together. He drew in a breath, amazed by the Asgardian’s mind. It was almost indistinguishable from a human’s, but there were subtle differences that were breathtaking.

“Oh, that’s gorgeous,” Ianto muttered as he extracted the magic and felt it separate and transform. What was pure went to augment his own energies. What was not…

Ianto knew a third headache was in store.

Thor chuckled. “I have never been admired for my mind, before,” he quipped.

“Pity,” Ianto rejoined, then went quiet as he soothed the damage.

It did not take as long, but as Ianto brushed back through Thor’s mind to be sure he was mending, something unexpected happened.

“Handler?” Thor backed away from Ianto, whose breath had hitched with an almost painful gasp.

Ianto’s eyes flew open and Thor took another step back as he saw the ethereal blue and white light swirling in them. With another gasp, Ianto bent backwards, and lightning arced from his body as he let out a shout. A large bolt flew from him and forked across the sky as thunder rumbled through the countryside.

Ianto collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath and feeling a bit scorched. Thor let out a mighty laugh, and Ianto summoned the energy to lift his head and scowl at him.

“Do not glare so, Handler,” Thor chuckled, kneeling beside him. “I did not do that on purpose. I was merely curious what would happen if I thought of lightning, and then you absorbed it before I could smother my curiosity.”

“I hate you,” Ianto allowed himself to fall over, no longer capable of verticalness. He vaguely wondered if that was even a word, then told his brain to shut up.

Thor sat beside Ianto, still chuckling sympathetically. “It was not that different for me, the first time I summoned lightning,” he said, speaking lightly to allow Ianto a moment to regroup. “Truth be told, I burned my eyebrows off,” he said, then laughed as Ianto quickly checked to see if he still had his. “You are fine, Handler. You look like you’ve been in the sun too long, but that will fade, soon enough.”

“I was trying to help you,” Ianto groused, still disinclined to sit up.

“And help me, you did!” Thor exclaimed. “I feel wonderful! I did not even realize that what she did had weighed me down, so. And now I can see that she did not manipulate my fears or trigger terrible memories, as she did with the others.”

“No?”

“As you noticed, my brain is different from a human’s. She triggered a vision. One that I must pursue and find the meaning of, as I believe it is pertinent to defeating Ultron.”

Ianto groaned. “You’re leaving.”

Thor grinned. “There is not a bed for me, anyway.”

“I was going to take the couch,” Ianto muttered.

“And now you do not have to,” Thor reached down and pulled Ianto upright, chuckling as the Welshman gave an uncharacteristic groan of complaint. “And I was right about your healing, Handler.”

Ianto scrubbed his face in his hands. “So you were.”

Thor stared. “You knew.”

“Bit difficult not to notice,” Ianto snarked, but with no real heat.

“But…”

“I’m still trying to figure out what it means,” Ianto said, his voice soft.

Thor nodded. They sat quietly for a few moments, and when Thor decided Ianto could stand, he hauled the Welshman to his feet and they made their way back to the Quinjet.

Thor summoned Mjolnir. “I shall return to the team once I have found some answers.”

“Thor,” Ianto said, and Thor rounded on him impatiently.

“I need answers. And I will not find them here.”

Ianto reached out to shake Thor’s hand. “I was just going to tell you to be careful.”

Thor smiled. “Thank you, Handler.”

In the next moment, he raised his hammer and flew away.

***

Ianto buttoned up the Quinjet and sank down in the field, watching the sun begin to set behind the trees. He never thought he’d ever set foot back in this place, again. It was not horrible, he had to admit. The place felt nice, now. None of the residual horror of generations of harvests. He shuddered. No, the negative associations were his own. He just couldn’t _not_ remember what had happened, here.

It had been his first trip into the field. Well, with Torchwood Three, at any rate. Ianto still felt deep shame at his reaction in the cellar after he and Tosh were first captured. And though it certainly wasn’t the first (or last) beating Ianto had taken, it was the most horrific, because of its purpose.

It’s one thing to take a beating because you’re in a fight or your tad’s a complete arsehole. It’s another thing entirely to be tenderized for eating. He could still smell the cannibal’s rancid breath as he declared, “Time to be bled, like veal. It takes a long time, but it definitely makes the meat taste better.”

Ianto shook off the terrible memories and made his way to the guest house. He knew the way – after all, he’d designed the layout of the town. He was glad that the lightning seemed to have replaced the nosebleed and vomiting, but he felt shaky, and his head was pounding.

Olina met him as he was halfway there. “Are you unwell?” she asked kindly.

“I don’t suppose you have Owen’s old kit, do you?” he asked.

“I’ll bring it to you,” she nodded, then eyed him closely. “Painkiller?”

Ianto nodded. “Just a headache,” he said.

“Hmm.”

As they approached the guest house, Olina took the path to her home. Ianto heard Tony and Steve arguing in the back garden as they chopped wood, clearly trying to burn off excess energy, after the fight.

“’Earth’s mightiest heroes’. Pulled us apart like cotton candy,” Steve said.

“Seems like you walked away all right.”

“Is that a problem?” Steve looked at Tony.

“I don’t trust a guy without a dark side,” Tony split another hunk of wood. “Call me old fashioned.”

“Well let’s just say you haven’t seen it, yet.”

“You know Ultron is trying to tear us apart, right?”

“Well I guess you’d know. Whether you tell us is a bit of a question.”

“Banner and I were doing research.”

“That would affect the team.”

“That would end the team,” Tony said, turning to Steve as the latter grabbed another hunk of wood. “Isn’t that the ‘why’ we fight, so we can end the fight? So we can go _home_?”

Steve tore the wood apart with his bare hands. Tony stared, trying not to show a reaction.

Steve gave him a hard look. “Every time someone tries to win a war before it starts, innocent people die. Every time.”

“Tony,” Ianto called out.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” Steve turned and stalked away.

“Yeah, kid,” Tony turned to Ianto.

“Maybe you should take a walk around the village, cool off,” Ianto suggested.

“I’m fine.”

“And perhaps on your walk, you’ll use that superior intellect of yours to consider a couple of things.”

Tony crossed his arms over his chest. “Like what?”

“Like the fact that you’re still on edge and picking fights, because you’re still healing,” Ianto said. “Like the fact that he’s the only one I haven’t had a chance to heal, yet. Like he’s made _appearing_ uninjured into an art form.”

“Pot and kettle, kid.”

Ianto crowded into Tony’s space and lowered his voice. “Like you talking about ending the fight and going home. Something he can never do, because his home doesn’t even exist, anymore.”

Tony’s eyes widened as that sank in.

“So remembering that, what do you think she hit him with, Tony?”

Tony hung his head and nodded.

“Still think he walked away all right?”

“I didn’t…”

“I know. Go walk. I’ll see if I can help him.”

Ianto entered the guest house and saw a freshly showered Clint look up from the sofa as he channel surfed. “Hey, man. Thor leave?”

Ianto nodded and dropped onto the seat next to him.

“Figured, after that massive bolt of lightning.” Clint eyed him. “Nat, Bruce, and I used most of the hot water. Steve’s showering, now. Said he didn’t care if it went cold. You and Tony can get a turn, in a while.”

Ianto nodded, then closed his eyes and rested his head back against the sofa cushion.

“You all right?” Clint put down the remote.

“Headache.”

“Yeah. You usually get a migraine if you heal more than two people in a week. You’re up to what? Four?” He shook his head. “And you’re not done, yet.”

“We need all hands on deck,” Ianto replied. Talking _hurt_. He wished he could just sit here, with the lights off, surrounded by silence. For maybe a decade.

“Yeah, I get that. But at some point we need to talk about the toll this takes on you.”

“I’ll be all right, Clint.” At the other man’s huff, Ianto hauled himself from the couch and made his way to the kitchen.

Clint followed. “No one wants you to do yourself harm, just to heal them.”

“It’s my choice,” Ianto said, grabbing a water bottle from the bench. “If I am willing to endure a headache in order to help you all, why is that a bad thing?”

“It’s not,” Clint huffed and looked down. “But we don’t have to like seeing you hurting, either.”

Ianto nodded. Fair enough. “Thanks.” He sniffed. “But you do realize I still need to help Steve.”

Clint snorted and nodded. “First door on the right at the top of the stairs.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Clint isn't married. Thank goodness, because apparently he and Romanoff have gotten together! They only just told me! Not surprised, though. But since Clint isn't married, there's no farm to which the team can retreat. And I rather liked the idea of a rehabilitated Brynnblaidd. 
> 
> Some dialogue lifted from Age of Ultron. 
> 
> Thanks for reading - let me know what you think!


	28. Chapter 28

When Ianto reached the room, he realized he would be sharing it with Steve, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He nodded to his friend and took off his suit coat, waistcoat, tie, shoes, socks, and belt. Setting aside his cufflinks, he rolled up his sleeves before heading to the ensuite and shoving his head beneath the cold faucet.

The shock of it dulled the migraine that was building. He grumbled at getting his shirt wet as he re-entered the bedroom, tossing it onto the pile with the rest and untucking his vest has he went.

“You all right?” Steve asked from where he was sitting on the side of one of the beds.

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I suppose you want to help.”

“I do.”

“Will you see… what she did?” Steve looked uncertain.

“Not really. I’ll get a better idea of why I’ve been feeling what I’ve been feeling, though.”

“You’re feeling this?” Steve looked shaken by the idea.

Ianto shrugged. “I’m an empath. That’s kind of how it works. Usually I can block it, but not this, because her magic came from the same stone that so much of the strength of my empathy comes from, now.”

Steve nodded. He’d heard Ianto give Natasha the same explanation, on the Quinjet. It made sense, but he hated the idea of sharing this… misery with Ianto. Except he already was – couldn’t not, apparently. So…

“All right. What do you need me to do?” he asked.

Ianto had expected more of an argument. He sagged in relief that it had been avoided. He pulled the chair from the small writing desk in the corner and sat before Steve. Leaning forward, he gently pressed his forehead to Steve’s.

He realized his error as soon as he nudged into Steve’s mind. With his healing factor, Steve had begun to mend. However, he was healing around the invading magic, which meant it was going to cause more pain to reopen what had healed so far in order to mend it properly.

“Oh, gods, Steve,” Ianto leaned back and explained. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Steve gave him a pained smile. “I’m glad you took care of the others, first.”

Ianto shook his head. “I’ll try to be quick.”

He clasped the sides of Steve’s head, and Steve wrapped his hands around Ianto’s right forearm and left wrist. Ianto cursed the Maximoffs once more as he was forced to re-inflict the damage to Steve in order to free the witch’s magic and pull it from his friend’s mind.

He ignored the pain as Steve growled and grasped his arms harder than he was likely aware. Ianto kept going. It took almost a half hour, and when he released Steve, the older man collapsed unconscious back onto the bed. Ianto guided him down and noticed a fleck of blood on his cheek.

Ianto quickly pulled up his vest and held it to his nose, realizing it was his blood on Steve’s face. He found a flannel in the ensuite and washed the blood off of Steve before descending the stairs to answer Olina’s knock. He was happy to hear a shower running and absently hoped that meant there was enough hot water for him to bathe, now.

Olina hissed at the blood that now saturated the front of his vest, even as he held the flannel to his face, to try to staunch the flow. “What happened?” she asked.

“Just a nosebleed,” he said. “Did you find it?”

She held out the kit to him, looking like she wanted to say something.

“I’m fine, really,” he assured her.

“We will bring you food in an hour, or so,” she said, and gave a smile. “I assume enough for a dozen will suffice?”

Ianto chuckled and nodded. She wasn’t wrong that this crew ate much more than normal. He lowered the flannel long enough to give her a small smile and closed the door. He managed to make it back to the ensuite without anyone seeing him.

It took a while for the bleeding to stop, and he felt light-headed as he rummaged through Owen’s old kit and found some of the alien painkiller the cranky doctor had created. Hoping it was like the hangover cure that didn’t expire, he swallowed two of the tablets and prayed it would begin to work, soon.

Not sure he could stand long enough to shower, he ran a proper bath, instead. As the tub filled, he found a bin bag in the cabinet under the sink and disposed of his vest. His trousers weren’t badly stained, so he found enough supplies to pre-treat them so the stains wouldn’t set. He was able to rinse all of the blood from the flannel, and set it aside.

He noticed the pain in his arms as he lowered himself into the steaming bathwater. He hoped there was a long-sleeved shirt in the bag of clothes with his name on it. He didn’t want Steve to see the bruises he’d caused, though the one on Ianto’s wrist would be difficult to hide. The bruise on his forearm was severe, but it was his wrist that didn’t feel quite right. He hoped it would mend quickly. He didn’t want Steve to blame himself for injuring Ianto.

Ianto woke from a doze to find the bath water had cooled. Steve had wakened and was cursing.

“Ianto?” he burst into the ensuite as Ianto straightened in the tub.

“Yeah?” Ianto was glad his hands were still in the tub as he pushed himself to a sitting position. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s blood all over the floor,” Steve frowned. That Ianto hadn’t noticed that was… worrisome.

“Oh,” Ianto said. “Sorry. Little nosebleed. I’ll clean it up as soon as I’m dressed.

“Little...” Steve trailed off, realizing Ianto must not have seen the amount of blood he’d left on the floor. “You take your time. I’ll clean it up.”

“You feeling all right?” Ianto asked.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, Ianto. I’m fine.”

Ianto quickly showered to fight off the chill that was in the late November air. As he re-entered the bedroom to find his clothing bag, Steve was straightening from cleaning the floor. Thankfully, Ianto had bled on the hardwood, rather than the throw rug.

Ianto quickly put on the thermal Henley to cover his arms, and then stepped into the tracksuit pants. He found shoes and socks, but set the former aside as he pulled on the latter.

“Cold?” Steve asked.

Ianto nodded. The headache was still pretty bad, but no longer the blinding migraine it had been building to. He checked the clock to see how long before he could take another dose. “I’ll go see if there’s coffee,” he said, standing from the bed.

“Ianto,” Steve stayed him with a hand to his arm. “Can…” he sniffed.

In that moment, Ianto’s heart broke for his friend. He reached out and wrapped his arms around Steve, one hand finding the back of his head and the other at his back. He held onto him for a few long moments before Steve let out a sob and relaxed into the hug.

“’m sorry,” Steve said, his voice shaking.

“Don’t be,” Ianto soothed. “She stirred up all of your isolation and loneliness. She showed you the life you didn’t get. She scraped up every insecurity.”

“I took the serum because I wasn’t good enough,” Steve confessed.

“Your physical body was not strong enough to allow you to be a soldier,” Ianto corrected. “But Dr. Erskine would never have chosen you for the serum if you weren’t good enough, Steve.”

Steve clung to him more tightly. “’m not.”

“And I’d be willing to wager my last breath that you could have picked up that hammer, the other night.”

Steve shook his head and sobbed again. Ianto just held onto him, cursing Wanda bloody Maximoff again. He opened his mind and began broadcasting comfort and peace. And the feelings he was still getting used to, of family and love and belonging.

“You’re not alone, Steve,” Ianto assured, his voice low. “You have a family, now. I know you miss Peggy and your friends and your time, but you have us.”

Ianto looked up and through the partially open doorway he saw Tony watching, his face filled with sadness and regret. He gave a slow, solemn nod and continued down the hall to the room he was sharing with Bruce.

***

Everyone went downstairs to see that Tony had run into Nick Fury on his walk. Fury and Barton were chatting quietly as the rest joined them. A short while later, Olina and two other villagers showed up with a hearty meal.

Fast metabolisms and huge calorie burns guaranteed that no matter the kind of day, the food would be consumed. Ianto seemed to be the exception. He turned almost green at the sight of the meat course and pushed the roasted vegetables he’d accepted around his plate.

“Ianto,” Natasha ran a hand down his arm. “We’re sor…”

Ianto jerked away and sat back, cutting her off. “Gods, you people!” he snarked. “Not everything is about you!” He pushed back from the table and covered his face with his hands. “I’m sorry,” he looked around, looking contrite. “It’s just this place.” He shook his head. “Bad memories.”

“But it has been cleansed,” Olina, who had been invited to eat with them, declared.

Ianto shook his head. “It’s not the place, it’s me. It’s the smell of the trees and the taste of the air and the time of year and the sight of meat and…”

All of a sudden, the kitchen wobbled around them and changed. They were in a dirty room, an abattoir. Except the sides of meat hanging from the rafters and wrapped in plastic were not animals of the four-legged variety. They saw a younger Ianto and an Asian woman dragged in. As the couple turned their backs, Ianto told Toshiko to get ready to run.

They watched in horror as the man sleazed at Tosh, threatening more than just a beating. Then he turned to Ianto, who smiled madly at him before head-butting him and crying out for Tosh to run. He was felled by a blow to the gut and then knocked out by a shotgun-butt to the face.

The terrain of the vision became less steady, coming in flashes as a half dozen men beat Ianto to ‘tenderize’ him. The others were captured. The meat cleaver held to Ianto’s throat as a slow, painful bleeding was promised, ‘like veal’. A rescue by tractor. Sitting in the sunshine, still despairing.

A phone call to a friend with a bottle of vodka in one hand and the other itching to reach for the bottle of pills. The two days it took for either the boss or the doctor to bother looking him over, only to find just how appalling his injuries had been.

Ianto gasped loudly and they were in the kitchen, once more.

“What…” Tony started, looking pale.

“I’m sorry,” Ianto sobbed.

“Your control has slipped, Ianto,” Olina said, resting a cool hand on his arm and gesturing for the others to stand clear. “You just shared your flashback, dear.”

“Gods,” Ianto sniffed. “I am so sorry.”

Olina looked around. Everyone looked shaken, but they were more concerned about Ianto, than anything else. “Everyone is fine. But you need to re-establish your defenses.”

Ianto nodded.

The Silurian stood and took Ianto’s hand. “Come. Let us meditate together. It will help to settle your mind.”

They retired to Ianto’s and Steve’s room and sat on the floor facing one another and holding hands. Olina served as a solid, anchoring presence as Ianto quietened his mind and allowed his defenses to slide back into place.

After a half hour, he opened his eyes, feeling much better.

“You have a bit more color,” Olina remarked. “I shall leave you, now.”

“Thank you,” Ianto bowed over her hand.

He took two more of Owen’s painkillers and joined everyone else, downstairs.

“I’m sorry about that,” Ianto said, staring at his feet.

“Hey, it’s all right,” Steve came over to him and clasped his shoulder. “You’ve healed five of us in four days. You say you’re willing to take the fallout, for that. We should be, too.”

“Yeah,” Tony nodded. “You heal us and get a migraine that levels your defenses, we need to be willing to deal with how that impacts you.”

Banner shook his head. “That happened to you, here?” At Ianto’s nod, he sighed. “And you brought us here anyway.”

“It’s the only safe house I know,” Ianto shrugged.

“You’re completely bonkers, you know that?” Tony reached out and gave Ianto a one-armed hug.

Ianto gave Tony a wide-eyed look. “But all the best people are,” he said.

***

They all sat down and began talking through what Ultron was doing, his motivation, his possible plans. Tony decided to head to Oslo, to see if he could discover who was cock-blocking Ultron and keeping him away from the nuclear launch codes.

Ianto told them that they still had Mainframe in reserve. Tony in particular seemed to derive great pleasure from the idea that several members of Torchwood had been locked in their own base for days, now.

Steve, Natasha, and Clint decided to head to Helen Cho’s labs in Korea. Fury agreed to take Bruce and Ianto back to New York, at first light. Ianto slept through the night and was up with the others at dawn, headache unabated. He thanked Olina kindly for her assistance, and they headed back to New York.

Within a few hours, Tony had returned, and a while after, Clint returned with the cradle. Ianto went with Clint to try to track Natasha, who had been captured by Ultron. He wandered back up the stairs to find Banner and Stark working on the cradle.

“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“Ianto, we have a plan,” Tony said, actually unnerved by the normally mild-mannered Welshman’s anger.

“Have you learned nothing?”

“Look,” Tony gestured to Jarvis.

“Agent Jones, the body in the cradle is viable and cannot be easily destroyed.”

“So it’s either you or Ultron who gets uploaded?” Ianto asked.

“That’s the thought,” Tony replied. “Look. This isn’t about the damage she did. This is about Ultron. This is the way we can fight him.”

“I have sensed your attempts to read me, in the past,” Jarvis said.

Tony looked at Ianto. “What happened to ‘never without permission’?”

Ianto hung his head. “It started out as an exercise. But I stopped as soon as I realized he was sentient.”

“Had you asked permission, I would have granted it,” Jarvis said.

Ianto nodded. “But there was no reason, other than curiosity. And that wouldn’t have been fair to you.”

Tony snorted. Their handler was too decent.

“What if I asked you to do so, now?” Jarvis asked.

Ianto’s head came up. “I…”

“Please. You will see my intentions. You will realize I have no agenda, other than helping.”

Ianto didn’t necessarily feel up to this, but he knew time was of the essence, and the others would need to be convinced, as well. He opened his mind and reached out, found Jarvis and… there was no other way to put it – his consciousness danced with Jarvis’ for a few moments, and as he drew away he gave Tony a nod as he went to one of the workstations to sit.

He had another nosebleed.

“We’re going to talk about that, when this is done,” Tony called after him.

Ianto gave him a wave and watched as he and Banner continued their work. They were almost ready when Steve arrived, with the Maximoff twins.

“You!” Ianto shouted, and the air grew thick and heavy, rippling with his murderous anger.

Wanda’s eyes widened, and Pietro tried to move, but couldn’t.

Ianto advanced on them. “Do you have _any_ idea what you have done?” he shouted.

“Ianto, I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to sit this one out,” Steve said, and punched the handler, sending him to the floor in a heap.

“Oh, you are _so_ going to regret that,” Tony muttered.

“Tony, you don’t know what you’re doing,” Steve well knew he and Ianto would have words over this.

“And you do?” Banner asked. “She’s not in your head?”

“I know you’re angry,” Wanda began.

“Oh, we’re way past that,” Bruce sneered. “I could choke the life out of you, and never change a shade.”

The argument continued. Pietro unplugged everything, but then Clint took him out of the equation. Then Thor showed up, calling on his lightning to Frankenstein the cradle. The next moments were tense as Ianto came to and watched Vision quickly acclimate to physicality.

“The Avengers cannot defeat Ultron,” Thor said.

“Not alone,” Vision added.

“I looked into your head and saw annihilation,” Wanda said.

“Look again,” Vision offered.

“Yeah, her seal of approval means jack, to me,” Clint snarked.

“What about mine?” Ianto asked, leaning against one of the railings, working his jaw.

“You…” Steve began.

“Yeah,” Ianto snarked. “Before you bloody sucker punched me,” he seethed. “When are you arseholes going to learn to use your words?” He looked at Steve, and the latter felt his anger as he said, “But you take the word of this…” he struggled to contain his fury, “ _witch_ rather than ask your _team_ what the plan was.”

“Ianto…” Steve began, but Ianto cut him off.

“You don’t even realize that that wasn’t you, do you? My anger frightened her, so she had you take me out.” He sneered, and Wanda flinched. “I suppose I should be thankful you didn’t punch me as hard as you could.”

Steve looked shocked, and then turned angrily to Wanda as Ianto continued to quietly seethe.

“I’m the one who knew Tony was compromised, before. Do you really think I would have been sitting idly by, doing nothing to stop him, if I hadn’t vetted the idea?”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said.

Ianto scoffed and strode past him to Thor. “What did you find?”

“I had a vision. A whirlpool that sucks in all hope of life. And at its center is that,” he pointed at the stone embedded in Vision’s forehead.

“The Mind Stone?” Ianto asked.

Thor pointed at the twins. “Their powers.” Then he looked back to Ianto. “And some of yours. The horrors in our heads. Ultron himself. They all came from the Mind Stone. And they’re nothing compared to what it can unleash. But with it on our side…”

Ianto’s head swam as the team tried to get a read on Vision. And then, with the simplest of gestures, he proved himself. Everyone stared as he picked up Mjolnir and handed it to Thor. Ianto didn’t hide his smirk, but it turned to a frown as he realized that Steve had just added the Maximoff twins to the team.

“We will be discussing your unconsidered personnel decisions,” he hissed as he headed for the Quinjet.

“Ianto,” Steve called after him, but the younger man ignored him, going through the pre-flight checks and ensuring the Quinjet was stocked with everything they would need.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So Ianto has healed all of the damage Wanda did. And now she's on the team. Geez. Ianto and Steve are going to have some stuff to work out...
> 
> Next stop, Sokovia!
> 
> Let me know what you think. As always, thanks for reading! :)


	29. Chapter 29

Ianto scrambled SHIELD once they were in the air. A set of advance teams, assisted by the Iron Legion, quietly set about evacuating the city, well before the Avengers arrived. As the Quinjet landed four hours later, Coulson estimated that eighty percent of the population had been moved to the countryside. Emergency camps were already being assembled approximately twenty-five miles southeast of the city.

As evacuations continued, Bruce and Clint went after Natasha, and Ianto accompanied Tony to the church. Tony and Ultron traded quips, then Ultron revealed the vibranium core in the center of the sanctuary.

As the core rose from the floor, Ultron looked at Ianto. “I remember you.” He leaned down into Ianto’s space, their faces mere inches apart. Ianto stared at him, and didn’t flinch.

“Always happy to be memorable,” Ianto replied, breaking eye contact and shooting his cuffs.

“Oh, great. Another funny one,” Ultron said impatiently, straightening. “You never told me, though. What are you?”

“Human.”

“Oh, no,” Ultron chuckled. “You may have started out that way, but,” he shook his head. “Not any more, I’m afraid.”

“Well, we’ve both been influenced by the same thing,” Ianto said carefully.

“Ah,” Ultron replied. “That’s why you seem familiar. You’ve been touched by the stone.” He sat back. “I, however, was created from it. Clearly, I am superior.”

“Clearly,” Ianto deadpanned. He brushed a fleck of dust from his sleeve.

“What…” Ultron reeled back. “What are you doing?”

“Me?” Ianto widened his eyes innocently, and Tony wanted to laugh. “What could I possibly do to such a specimen of superiority as yourself?”

“You’re,” Ultron shook his head. “You’ve cut me off!”

“Ultron,” Vision appeared.

“My Vision. They really did take everything from me.”

“You set the terms. You can change them.”

“All right,” Ultron hurled himself at Vision.

Ianto held steady. He could hear Friday over the comms, and he vaguely missed Jarvis. “Boss. It’s working. Agent Jones’ shielding is keeping Ultron from actively accessing the net. It has allowed Vision to easily burn him out of the net, from the other side of the shield. He won’t escape that way.”

“You shut me out!” Ultron cried out as he broke from the grapple with Vision. “You think I care? You take away my world, I take away yours.” With that, he activated the vibranium core.

The earth began to shake. Reports from SHIELD filtered through Coulson indicated major fault lines forming all around the city.

“Oh, gods,” Ianto looked around, his eyes wide. He could _feel_ the earth breaking.

“Friday?” Tony asked.

“Sokovia’s going for a ride,” she said, her voice low and wavering. Ianto _really_ missed Jarvis, mostly because Friday was freaking him out, right now.

“Do you see?” Ultron sounded almost evangelical, calling his flock to him, perhaps to handle snakes and speak in tongues. “The beauty of it. The inevitability. You rise, only to fall. You Avengers, you are my meteor. My swift and terrible sword. And the earth will crack with the weight of your failure.”

“Why do they always have to monologue?” Ianto asked.

“Purge me from your computers, turn my own flesh against me. It means nothing. When the dust settles, the only thing living in this world will be metal.”

Ultron left quickly, and as they followed, they watched in horror as he knocked down a building that was still occupied. Tony grabbed Ianto and flew from the church. “Cap, you got incoming,” he called out, dropping Ianto close to the bridge.

“Yeah, incoming already came in,” Steve snarked. “Stark, you worry about bringing the city back down safely. The rest of us have one job: tear these things apart. You get hurt, hurt ‘em back. You get killed,” he paused a moment, for effect. “Walk it off.”

Barton and Banner had freed Natasha and the three had split up. Barton was now babysitting Wanda Maximoff (though he insisted he wasn’t). Ianto joined Steve, Thor, and Pietro on the bridge, and Steve absently noted that the handler’s stun gun was behaving strangely, arcing bluish-white electricity from one of Ultron’s puppets to the next. It was beautiful and mesmerizing, and seemed to have a mind of its own, not behaving like any electricity he’d seen. It was actually a bit like Thor’s lightning, but that wasn’t quite right, either.

As Tony told Steve he might have a solution, Steve, Natasha, and Ianto watched and debated as the city floated higher and higher.

“I’m not leaving this rock with one civilian on it,” Steve declared.

“I didn’t say we should leave,” Natasha replied. She looked at Ianto.

“Worse ways to go,” he shrugged.

“Where else am I gonna get a view like this?” Natasha asked, smiling.

“Glad you like the view, Romanoff,” they heard Nick Fury say over the comms. “It’s about to get better.”

Just then, the helicarrier came into sight, achieving and pacing Novi Grad’s altitude.

“This is SHIELD?” Pietro Maximoff asked.

“This is what SHIELD’s supposed to be,” Steve answered, knowing that with Hydra gone, the agency was coming into its own, becoming what Howard and Colonel Phillips and Peggy had originally envisioned. He glanced over at Ianto, who was watching the lifeboats deploy and felt a surge of pride that it was his friend who had ensured Peggy’s legacy would be something good, and not some dystopian nightmare.

They watched as Ultron’s minions flew to attack the lifeboats, and War Machine defended them. The Avengers converged on the chapel to protect the core from Ultron and his army as SHIELD personnel unloaded from the lifeboats and began to organize the crowds for an orderly evacuation.

There were ten lifeboats, and each could carry one hundred people, maybe a few more. Ianto scanned the rubble as the people began lining up. Ten trips, at the outside, assuming Rhodes could keep the sentries at bay. He shook his head, to clear it. As the people lined up at each landing zone, the sentries began diving at them.

Ianto found the closest thing he could to the center of the crowd and envisioned a mighty oak. Perhaps Thor’s Yggdrasill. More likely the Celtic crann bethadh, with roots spreading down, through the bit of floating city, down into the earth, down to the very core, where they wrapped around its molten center and drew power from its pressure and heat, sending it back up.

Hill and Coulson stopped dead up and stared as Ianto’s eyes turned a bright, silvery blue that glowed like… lightning. Coulson blinked and turned back to his task, uncertain what Ianto was doing. In the next moment, he realized as a sentry seemed to just bounce off of the nearest group awaiting transfer to the helicarrier.

Ianto was shielding the evacuees.

He stretched his arms overhead, his movements graceful and natural. It would have felt strange _not_ to do so. From each finger stretched the knotted branches of the tree. Ianto smiled. Definitely the Tree of Life. Perhaps made only of air and his own imagination, but real nonetheless as he used the power of what he was envisioning to shelter the people who had lost so much today, but would not lose their lives, if he could help it.

The sentries kept coming, only to bounce off of what most would have sworn was nothing. But a few who still kept to the old ways, or still believed in magic… they could see the beautiful tree growing from the rubble, protecting them with its branches.

The lifeboats were offloading the eighth set of evacuees and headed back to pick up the ninth when Ultron faced off against the others at the church. After the Hulk gave Ultron a smack and the sentries turned tail, everyone returned to the loading zones, leaving Wanda Maximoff to guard the core. The sentries lost interest in those waiting to be ferried to the helicarrier, so Ianto released his image of the tree from his mind and sat down hard on the low wall he had been standing on. He was exhausted.

As the last of the evacuees loaded onto the final lifeboat, a woman spotted her son hiding in the market square. During the entirety of the evacuation, she had been searching frantically for him. Now the SHIELD agents on the lifeboat would not allow her to disembark.

Ianto was trying to shake off the swimming in his head. He wanted to help the young woman, but he couldn’t get himself to stand up. He saw Natasha head for the Hulk, who was fuming in an open square a few hundred meters away, and Clint headed for the market square, only about a half a city block from where Ianto was sitting.

In the next moment, the Avengers’ Quinjet flew over, strafing the far square. He stood and headed that way, relieved to see that the Hulk had shielded Natasha from the hail of bullets. He shook his head. The lullaby might take a while longer, now. He looked up and saw the Quinjet make a tight turn to come around for another pass.

Adrenaline served to clear Ianto’s head. He sprinted towards the market, where Clint had pulled the child out from the rubble where he had been hidden. Clint spotted the Quinjet and turned away from it, holding the boy in front of him, clearly hoping to save him from the shots, as there was no place to run to for cover, in time.

Ianto couldn’t summon the strength to shield them. But then he saw.

Out of nowhere, Pietro Maximoff raced in and moved Clint and the boy behind an overturned police cruiser, ten meters away. Ianto ran forward and grabbed Pietro by the back of the neck.

“Apologies, old man,” Ianto muttered, then _pulled_ some of the boy’s speed from him. Just a small loan. Just for a moment. He felt a jolt of power and then somehow _threw_ it at the Quinjet. It wasn’t much. He didn’t have that much left in reserve, even after hijacking some of the kid’s juice.

But it was enough. The Quinjet veered off course as its machine gun flipped straight up and a volley of rounds tore through the belly of the jet. It was damaged beyond repair. They watched as it went down, its trajectory taking it beyond the church for a spectacular crash landing.

Pietro jerked away from Ianto. “What did you do to me?”

“I needed help,” Ianto said, staggering back. “I am sorry. Had there been more time, I would have asked, first.”

Pietro looked at the sky, where the Quinjet had been bearing down on them. “I feel strange,” he muttered. He had a feeling this man had just saved his life.

“Grab an energy drink,” Ianto deadpanned. “You’ll be fine.” He looked at Clint. “You all right?”

Clint nodded, his wide eyes moving from Ianto to Pietro. “Thanks.”

Ianto nodded, then leaned against the car, feeling weak and dizzy.

Steve ran up to them. He looked around, then reached out to Ianto. “You all right?”

Unable to control the reflex, Ianto flinched violently away from Steve’s touch. Steve took a step back, overwhelmed for a fraction of a second by an intense feeling of sorrow, isolation, and loss. As soon as he felt it, it was gone, shut off as though a door had slammed upon it. He looked at Ianto and knew that was exactly what had happened. And he realized that the moment he struck Ianto to take him out of the argument, he had, in Ianto’s mind, rejected him, as both handler and friend.

“’m Fine,” Ianto said, straightening. He buttoned his jacket and attempted to brush it down, but it was beyond help. He settled for shooting his cuffs, just to keep from looking at Steve, who could not hide his own shock.

Clint looked from one to the other and unceremoniously shoved the kid into Steve’s arms. “His mom’s on the lifeboat,” he said, nodding in that direction.

“We can’t wait much longer,” Tony said, his voice tense. “We’ve gotta do this soon.”

Clint steadied Ianto as they headed for the lifeboat. The helicarrier had already begun its retreat, relying on the smaller vessel to catch up. As it was, it was unlikely they could make the minimum safe distance before Tony and Thor destroyed the city.

Once they landed, Ianto ran for the deck of the carrier. Tony and Thor were trying to wait, but time was running out. Ianto reached, again and again, trying to take root, but he was dreadfully weak, and there was no earth to grab onto, to sink his roots into.

In the next moment, Vision arrived with Wanda. Pietro hugged her and took her inside, leaving Phil, Clint, Steve, Vision, and Ianto to stare at the floating city that was entirely too close. Ianto closed his eyes and tried again. He knew he could do it, but he was just so _tired_.

“You wish to shield the helicarrier, as you did the civilians, do you not?” Vision asked, disrupting Ianto’s focus.

Ianto opened his eyes and nodded wearily. “Can’t get there,” he admitted.

“You have expended far too much energy,” Vision nodded. “However, if you would permit me, I believe I can assist you.”

“Can’t you do it?” Steve asked.

“While I have possession of the stone, I do not pretend to know all of its secrets. Agent Jones has been working with the imprint it left on him for more than half a year. Plus,” Vision shrugged. “The stone didn’t even realize it could do this. It is Agent Jones’ imagination that determines what is possible. The power of the stone simply fuels the process, pulling it into reality.”

“They’ll not be able to wait much longer,” Ianto said, swaying on his feet. Phil reached out to steady him. Ianto looked at Vision. “What do you need to do?”

“Consent is important to you,” Vision said, and Ianto bristled. “I am sorry, I cannot prevent it. If it is any consolation, with you most is shrouded. I can only see the pinnacle of an iceberg, here and there.” At Ianto’s nod, he continued. “With your permission, I will provide an energy source, to fuel you as you defend us.”

“You have it,” Ianto said, without hesitation.

Vision reached out, then hesitated. “I will warn you. You will only be a conduit for the energy. I will take back whatever is not used. It would be too dangerous otherwise, as I have no way of knowing what would overload you.”

“I understand,” Ianto nodded, eager to get on with it.

“Wait. What does that mean?” Steve asked, alarmed at how little Ianto apparently cared about what would happen to him, when they were done.

“It means that I will supply the energy, and Agent Jones will use it to create the barrier. When the barrier is no longer needed, I will take back whatever energy is left over.”

“What will that do to Ianto?” Clint asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ianto said. “We need to do this, now.”

Vision looked at Ianto for a moment before turning to the other three. “I will not be able to discern between the surplus of my own power and that of Agent Jones, when I pull it back. He is already depleted. This is not without risk.”

“Of which, I am aware,” Ianto said, getting exasperated. “And to which, I consent. Do we need to call in one of Stark’s attorneys so I can sign a waiver?”

“Hey, don’t drag me into this,” Tony said, though his voice was sober. There could be three casualties from the team, before the day was over. “He’s right, though. We need to do this.”

“Very well,” Vision ignored Steve’s and Clint’s looks of horror and stepped behind Ianto, wrapping his hand around the back of the handler’s neck. Ianto nodded at Phil before closing his eyes, feeling for the energy Vision was offering.

Ianto gasped and his eyes flew open, bluish silver light spilling out as he threw his head back. He felt his roots wrapped around the core of the earth within seconds. His arms slowly came up, and the beautiful knotted branches spread forth, surrounding the entire helicarrier.

“Beautiful,” Vision whispered, his voice hushed with awe.

“Now,” Ianto rasped. He reached out, sending two of the branches further.

Within seconds, Tony and Thor were working in tandem to ignite the core that Ultron had created. In a brilliant and terrifying flash, the meteoric city exploded. Within seconds, Ianto felt the shock wave reverberate harshly against the branches. Vision’s hand at his neck held him steady as his body shook.

The helicarrier was still too close, but as the shock wave rang through the atmosphere, the barrier Ianto had constructed held. The helicarrier continued its flight, unperturbed, though the shield was taking a pounding. Debris was now slamming into it, putting on a spectacular show as the force of each impact vaporized it.

Ianto felt each blow as though he were taking a beating.

All of his focus was on defending the helicarrier. So he was completely unaware when he began projecting another flashback. Every hunk of rubble that hit Ianto’s shield felt like a baseball bat to his body. Naturally, after having just been back to Brynnblaidd, his mind turned to that experience, which this one was so closely mimicking, in terms of sensation.

Ianto held the shield in place and the others helplessly watched his memory self scream in agony as he was beaten mercilessly. One cannibal had actually grabbed a handful and licked Ianto, promising all sorts of horrible things.

(That was something Ianto had never told anyone about; not even Jack.)

By the time the flashback cannibals cut him down and put a sack over his head and shoved him in the corner, a quarter hour had passed. As the flashback faded, they could see Tony and Thor flying their way. Ianto dissolved the branches and roots, and Vision released his hold on Ianto’s neck.

Ianto dropped like a brick.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken some dialogue from Age of Ultron. This mostly concludes that arc, though there's a bit of mop-up, to do.
> 
> Oh, and that occupied building Ultron knocked down? That's important. Think: Wakanda...
> 
> Next up are some unexpected cuddles and a bit of fallout.
> 
> Let me know how you liked this! :)


	30. Chapter 30

Steve made to move towards Ianto, who was now passed out on the deck of the helicarrier. Clint stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“I think this is like after Pierce,” he said. “Psychic shock. He was already shying away from you. I don’t think you should touch him, right now.”

Steve winced, then nodded and stepped back. Bruce and Natasha had come up onto the flight deck to see what was going on. Natasha knelt by Ianto, but didn’t touch him.

Thor and Tony landed as Vision flew back towards the crater that had been Novi Grad. Thor set Mjolnir down and picked Ianto up. “I do not remember the way to the healing facility,” he frowned.

“I don’t know that the med-bay’s the best idea,” Clint said. “Remember what they told us about psychic shock. Body heat and comfort, and as quiet as possible.”

“Med-bay’s full, anyway,” Phil said. “Definitely too loud for him, right now. Let’s take him to the guest quarters, like before. Natasha, go get what we need, to set up an IV. Vision said he was already depleted, before this. He’s probably going to need a lot of rest, once the shock wears off.”

Phil was leading Thor to the guest quarters, as he spoke. Natasha peeled off to go to the med-bay for supplies. The others followed Phil and Thor.

The helicarrier was filled well past capacity. They’d been lucky. The vast majority of the residents of the city had made it out under their own steam before Ultron set his plan in motion. About ten thousand had been trapped as the city was launched, and every last one of them had been loaded onto the helicarrier, to be taken to the camp. Once the crew was taken into consideration, every area of the helicarrier, outside of the bridge and a few places like the guest quarters, was standing room only.

Thankfully, they weren’t going far. The lifeboats were ready to be loaded and start ferrying the evacuees to the camps. Pepper Potts had begun coordinating additional resources from the Stark Relief Foundation. They were already researching the best place to rebuild, and had picked out some alternate sites to present to the city’s leadership.

So they made their way down teeming corridors and finally to the guest quarters, where the Lord Mayor was pacing with his cabinet.

“Oh,” Phil stopped short. “My apologies. I thought these quarters were empty.”

The mayor looked beyond Phil to the young man lying unconscious in Thor’s arms. “It is the one who protected us!” he exclaimed, looking back to the others, who were nodding. “With the tree, as we were evacuating. He kept us safe, from those things. What is the matter with him?”

Phil frowned. Tree? “He did the same for the helicarrier. We were not a safe distance from the city, when it exploded.” He looked back at Ianto. “But he… overtaxed himself.”

“Please. We will leave. You must care for him,” the mayor declared.

Phil directed Thor to lay Ianto on the bed, then turned back to the mayor. “Thank you. But you don’t need to leave. We’ll just close the divider between the conference area and the sleeping quarters.”

“Thank you,” the mayor smiled.

As Phil closed the divider between them, he assured the mayor that they would arrive at the camps shortly, and someone would be in contact to help coordinate next steps. By the time he had turned back to the sleeping quarters, Natasha had returned with the medical supplies and jumped into the shower as Thor and Bruce stripped Ianto.

“I have a sonic device. Can be used to clean him up, so he can be more comfortable, until he can shower,” Tony said. His voice was tense.

Banner took the device from Tony and ran it over Ianto’s body. “God, these bruises. Where did they come from?”

“Some are normal,” Vision said, phasing through the door. “But most are psychic, from the battering the shield took. He shielded everything but himself.” At everyone’s horrified looks, he added, “This is not something that came with a user’s manual. His intuition on how to use this power is staggering. He just needs to fine-tune it, and learn to make improvements, with each effort. Frankly, I am somewhat surprised at how adept he is, after so short a time.”

Tony looked at Thor. “Did you feel something… strange? Out there?”

Thor was watching Ianto contemplatively. After a moment, he broke out of his reverie.

“You did not see it, then?” Thor asked.

“See what?” Tony asked.

“I believe that in order to create the shielding that protected everyone, Handler used the image of Yggdrasill. Though perhaps something more akin to his own heritage. There was a tree, made of air and that bluish silver light that we see, whenever he summons the power of the Mind Stone.”

“A tree!” Phil exclaimed. “That’s what the mayor was talking about. Maybe some people can see it, and others can’t?”

“That is not uncommon,” Thor nodded. “I felt a branch at my back, as I struck the core with Mjolnir. It did not interfere until everything began breaking apart. Then it wrapped around me, shielding me from the destruction.”

Tony nodded. “I didn’t see anything. But debris was bouncing off of something.” He looked at Phil. “Why is he in shock?”

“Protecting the evacuees waiting for the lifeboats depleted him,” Phil said, and went on to explain how Vision had provided the power Ianto had required in order to shield the helicarrier. “But once he stopped supplying the power, Ianto didn’t have anything left.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Bruce said, stepping away from the bed as Clint covered Ianto with a blanket.

Thor entered the ensuite as Natasha left, wearing only a towel. She quickly slid into the bed, tossing the towel to Clint, who piled another blanket on as she shivered.

“He’s freezing,” she muttered, pressing her shower-heated body to his.

Within minutes, Thor was back out of the shower and clambering into the bed on the other side of Ianto. He turned the younger man so he was resting against Natasha. He then pressed the front of his body to the back of Ianto’s, trying to maintain as much contact as possible.

Ianto’s body temperature had dropped drastically, due to the shock. They debated getting some tea and trying to get Ianto to swallow it, to try to warm him up. But Thor assured them that body heat would do the trick. It would just take some time.

Clint showered and piled into the bed behind Natasha, hoping to keep her warm so she could continue to share some heat with Ianto. Thor didn’t seem to have that issue. He was a bit of a furnace, but Ianto’s lack of heat was slowly absorbing it.

After a half hour or so, Ianto slowly began to regain consciousness. His head was resting between Natasha’s shoulder and breast, and he nuzzled against her pectoral and sighed, “Lisa,” as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

Natasha blinked a few times, her heart feeling heavy for him. “Bratishka,” she said, her voice low and soothing.

Ianto froze. For a moment, he stopped breathing. Then very carefully, he loosened his hold on her. “’m sorry,” he said, his voice broken by tears. He buried his grief and tried to move away, but was stopped by the very large, very warm, very _naked_ body behind him. He froze again.

“Do not panic, Handler,” Thor said, his voice shockingly quiet. “You went into psychic shock. We are merely warming you up.”

Ianto nodded, but his entire body was tense.

“How do you feel?” Phil asked.

Ianto’s vision was bleary, but he could roughly make out the shapes of Phil, Bruce, and Steve. He wiped away the tears and shrugged.

“Tired,” he decided. “And cold.” He realized he was shivering violently.

“Let us shift, then,” Thor said. “And perhaps give Agent Romanoff a chance to warm up.”

Ianto looked at Natasha. “Sorry,” he muttered, feeling Thor turn over behind him. Before he could follow suit, Natasha pressed a hand to his cheek. He was too tired and weak not to lean into her touch.

“If you can put up with a migraine to heal me, why can’t I put up with getting a little chilly, helping you?” She reached up and kissed his nose. “Hush, now.”

He chuckled and turned over, making Thor an oversized little spoon. He marveled how surreal his life had become, lately. Victoria Cross, murder bots, making himself ill trying to heal people from psychic attacks. Now he had Thor’s bare arse in his lap. If he had the energy, he might laugh. He had the vague thought that it was a good thing he thought of Thor as a brother and was not attracted to him; otherwise, this might get awkward, pretty quickly.

He stifled a giggle and curled against the warmth of Thor’s back. In the next moment, he felt warmth at his own back, but he didn’t have the strength to turn his head to see who it was.

“Only me,” Clint said, pressing against Ianto, who was now surrounded by renewed heat.

Ianto felt his body begin to relax into the warmth, though the shivering persisted. He startled when Thor reached back and tapped his hip.

“Give me your hand,” Thor demanded.

Ianto’s hands were both at his own chest, a defensive posture, against the cold. He was loathe to reach out, worried it would make him colder. But after a moment, he did. His hand reached around Thor, but sort of flailed, not knowing what he wanted. Thor took Ianto’s hand, pulling his arm around him. Ianto found himself pulled even closer to Thor, and the Asgardian was holding Ianto’s hand in his, against his chest.

“Barton?” Thor rumbled.

Clint now reached out, his arm draping over Ianto and his hand working its way under Thor’s forearm and Ianto’s, pulling them all closer. He rested his hand against Thor’s chest, under Ianto’s hand, which was now sandwiched between Clint’s and Thor‘s in much the same way the rest of his body was.

Ianto let out a sob, overwhelmed by the comfort. He had been living like a monk for so long, physical comfort had become somewhat rare. He was still no good at asking for what he needed, having learned long ago to simply go without. Natasha tended to be tactile and huggy, but for the most part his need for comfort had long gone unmet.

Thor and Clint both noticed that Ianto’s reaction was not due to discomfort. In fact, his hold on them tightened as he took a moment to breathe through the emotion. As he calmed, he pressed his forehead against the back of Thor’s neck and began to allow his body to relax.

He sank into the warmth and comfort, feeling safe and cared for. The pain and anger and angst and stress of the previous few days was slowly replaced by a calm tranquility that made him feel like he was floating along on a cloud.

He muttered something unintelligible in Welsh that felt like a ‘thank you’ as he finally surrendered to sleep.

***

When Ianto woke, it was a slow thing. It actually took days. He was warm and sleepy and comfortable, and several times he gave in to the urge to dive back into the dreamless slumber that felt better than anything had, in a long, long time.

When he finally roused, it was to the sounds of the helicarrier in port. She was quieter on the water, of course, those huge turbines silent and unmoving. Despite her size, he could feel her floating contentedly in the harbor. He could hear gulls complaining to the wind, outside. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was in the helicarrier’s guest stateroom.

He sat up, groaning at his sore body’s protests. Looking around, he saw some clothing. He heaved himself from the bed, feeling lightheaded. He dug around the kitchenette and found a stale granola bar and a warm bottle of water. He downed both, then removed the long-empty IV from his arm and headed to the shower.

All of the warmth and comfort felt like a dream, mocking him from the cold, lonely reality of waking, alone and forgotten. He went through the motions of showering and putting on the ill-fitting clothing. His shoes looked ridiculous with the boiler suit, and he was suddenly struck by the notion that perhaps Weevils had once been human beings, but they had been shunted aside and forgotten.

He shook his head at the nonsensical yet compelling notion that the Weevil was the outward appearance of how feeling so unloved felt. He wondered why he was feeling so maudlin, but then as he gave the quarters one last look to discover his wallet, keys, and dead cell phone, he stopped wondering.

As he made his way out of the helicarrier, he noted that it was down to its skeleton crew. It was like a blow to the gut, the realization that he had simply been left there, forgotten. He felt a strange sort of whiplash, after feeling so cared for, when he’d been in shock.

He supposed he was just another asset, now that he’d shown something of his abilities. He felt the emptiness of that, and though he was grateful he had not been locked up, he knew that he would have to start making other arrangements.

Once out of the yard, he hailed a cab. He went to Bleecker Street, first. The Ancient One said nothing about his state, though Wong expressed a good deal of concern. Ianto shrugged it off and drank the tea they gave him before talking through what he had come to discuss.

The Ancient One confirmed Ianto’s suspicions regarding how his abilities were developing, as well as the consequences. She made some suggestions for Wong, who bustled off to begin preparing some teas and tinctures for Ianto to take with him.

“There is something weighing on you,” she said, once she and Ianto were alone. “Your heart is burdened by more than what you have taken on.”

Ianto bowed his head. “Back home, there was a name for what I seem to have become,” he confessed. He told her, and she frowned, nodding not in agreement, but for him to continue. “They were reviled. Cast out. Only brought forth when they might prove themselves useful.” He swiped at the tears that had sprung to his eyes. “And it’s already begun.”

“In what way?”

He told her about Steve hitting him, and about waking alone on the helicarrier.

“I don’t even know what day it is,” he sobbed.

The Ancient One held his hand as he wept, and Wong sat beside him, offering him a handkerchief and tea, when he calmed. They told him what day it was, and he was relieved that it had only been four days since Novi Grad was destroyed.

“I am sorry for the neglect you have felt, Ianto,” the Ancient One said. “Coming out of psychic shock is a particularly vulnerable time, so that makes the pain even more profound, I know. But I hope you will try to refrain from jumping to conclusions. I know that your friends love you. Your team loves you.”

Ianto nodded politely as he composed himself. “Time to go, I suppose.”

“I believe there are more things I can teach you,” she said as they stood, “to help ease some of the sharpness of your experiences, and to protect yourself while you are protecting others.”

“Thank you,” Ianto said, and before leaving, he made arrangements with Wong to start another round of intensive training, to begin in a few weeks’ time, once he’d had a chance to regain his equilibrium, after this latest experience.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm a terrible person. It'll get better, though. 
> 
> Bit of a bridge. Next up is clearing the air, first with Steve, then with Wanda.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	31. Chapter 31

Ianto’s day did not improve as he was stopped by security at the Avengers Tower when he walked past them towards the elevator that would access the residential floors. Thankfully, one of the guards did recognize him, though his eyes were wide at Ianto’s appearance. Ianto made his way to the elevator spewing Welsh invective under his breath.

Once in the elevator, he was surprised by a new voice. Then he remembered. Friday had replaced Jarvis. He asked for his floor.

“Agent Jones, everyone is looking for you. Are you sure I can’t persuade you to stop in at the eighty-first floor, first?”

Ianto lost his patience. “I woke up attached to an IV that was bone dry on the helicarrier, which was only manned by a skeleton crew. Let’s face it, Friday. They forgot me. So they can bloody well wait for me to have a shower and put on some proper clothes, and if you stop _anywhere_ between here and the eighty-seventh floor…”

“I assure you, I will not countermand your instructions, Agent Jones. I am sorry that happened,” Friday said.

“Thank you.” Ianto’s chin did _not_ wobble.

He told Friday he was not to be disturbed, and he fixed himself the best cup of coffee he could manage, and drank it at the table as he ate his eggs on toast, like a human being. He ignored whoever was knocking on his door, and he did not turn his phone on when he plugged it in to charge.

He shaved and took a long, hot shower, perhaps even dawdling, just a bit. He continued to ignore the knocks at his door as he dressed meticulously. After another cup of coffee, he could put it off no longer. He squared his shoulders and left his apartment.

Phil was standing outside his door. Ianto was surprised. He wasn’t sure who he was expecting, but apparently it wasn’t Phil. “Can I help you, sir?”

Phil flinched at the formality in Ianto’s tone and the expressionless mask on his face.

“I came to apologize,” he quickly plunged in.

Ianto raised an eloquent eyebrow.

“I was with you until yesterday morning, when I was called away. I called Hill to tell her you needed to be watched over, but the message got garbled, and she thought I’d said that you were heading back here.” He looked at Ianto, his expression pained and sincere. “I’m sorry, Ianto.”

Ianto stared at him for a long moment. Phil wasn’t lying, but that didn’t seem to help. He shrugged. Didn’t matter. “Apology accepted.”

Phil blinked. He believed the words, but the mask was still in place. Then he remembered what Thor had said. Before leaving, the Asgardian told them that someone should stay with Ianto, until he woke. “Psychic shock can leave someone very fragile, for weeks after the event. No matter how strong they might be, this can leave them vulnerable.”

They had all figured out that the fight with Tony after Hydra was taken down had done the kind of damage that Thor was warning them about. It had taken months, an apology from Tony, and a lot of therapy to get Ianto right, and no one wanted a repeat.

And here they’d set one up, anyway. Phil cursed to himself for not checking in with Hill sooner.

“Ianto,” Phil began, following him to the elevator.

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Ianto blatantly lied. “I’m a grown man. I can look after myself. I got myself back here in one piece, even.”

“And you’re angry enough that you’ve been ignoring everyone who’s knocked on your door since you got back.”

“I’m not angry,” Ianto shrugged, and Phil knew it wasn’t a lie, which actually made him feel worse. “I was just trying to have a shower and get dressed.”

The elevator stopped and they stepped off, to see the floor alive with activity. It scraped against Ianto’s skin, but his mask did not slip. It may have been a while since he’d needed it, but it wouldn’t fail him, now.

“Hey, there you are,” Tony called out. “Friday said you had a hissy fit because no one was there when you woke up. All better, now?”

“I said nothing of the kind,” Friday protested as Ianto felt himself flush with embarrassment.

“Hey,” Natasha ran up and hugged him. He returned the embrace half-heartedly, and she stepped back, frowning. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Ianto replied, stepping around her. “What did I miss?”

She looked at Clint, who looked as concerned as she did.

Ianto headed for his workstation and began going through emails and coordinating responses. There had been a delegation of scientists from Wakanda in the building that Ultron had knocked down when he left the church after activating the core. The king was demanding some sort of action be taken to hold the Avengers responsible. So far, the response was mixed. Ianto made note to reach out to the king to discuss the issue, outside of the public spotlight.

It was early afternoon when Ianto arrived. He worked until after six, then headed down to speak to Myfanwy. He was shocked and annoyed to see that Steve had allowed the Maximoff twins onto the floor. He strode angrily past them and approached her.

“Are you all right, my love?” he crooned, kneeling down. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“Why would we hurt her?” Pietro frowned.

Myfanwy cocked her head and squawked, and it sounded exactly as though she was asking the same question.

“Because that’s what they do,” Ianto said. “But I’m glad you’re all right.”

She made a strange clucking sound and toddled over to where he was kneeling.

“I’m fine, love,” he said, and she huffed at him. He chuckled. “Fair do’s. I’ll be all right, okay?”

Myfanwy squawked again.

Wanda turned wide eyes to Steve. “Is he actually talking to her? I mean, as though she is talking back?”

Steve shrugged. He’d seen Ianto hold many conversations with Myfanwy, by now. He wasn’t willing to dismiss the possibility out of hand, because she always seemed to respond to his answers in a way that made it seem like more than a one-sided conversation. He’d always thought it was sweet. It hurt that Ianto thought Steve might let her come to harm.

Ianto ignored them and sat with Myfanwy, giving her lots of rubs and scratches, since he was fairly certain she’d already received her fill of chocolate. Another irritation, but he tried not to begrudge them that. He wasn’t even sure why he was upset.

Well, that was a lie.

Two lies, actually.

He wasn’t upset.

He was angry.

And he knew exactly why.

He was angry because he did not trust Wanda Maximoff. With the exception of Clint, she had hurt everyone on the team. Badly. And Ianto was not convinced she regretted what she had done. After all, she’d yet to apologize, as far as he knew. But he’d keep his temper, until he found out.

***

In the weeks following, Ianto all but disappeared. Coffee was always in the pot, but he had become a wraith within the tower. He stopped eating in the communal area. Truth be told, he all but stopped eating, at all.

He had exactly one proper conversation, in that time. It was with Clint, who at some point during the first week asked him why he disliked the Maximoffs so much. Ianto asked if Wanda had apologized, and Clint frowned. “She ended up fighting on our side. Wasn’t that apology enough?”

Ianto shook his head. “Not even close,” he grumbled. Then he asked Clint if it would be enough for Loki to fight on their side, without first offering an apology.

“I take your point,” Clint nodded. Then he looked more closely at Ianto. “You took what she did pretty personally, considering she didn’t do it to you.”

“Didn’t she?” Ianto asked, and then lost his nerve. No point in sharing, now. “In the end, if I have to suffer in healing the damage she inflicted, why don’t I have the right to take that personally?”

“You’re right,” Clint admitted. “Sorry.”

“But that’s not the problem,” Ianto said. “The real problem is that she hurt my friends, and she never even bothered to apologize.”

“You’re a bit of a mother hen, you know that?” Clint chuckled. He held his hands up in surrender at Ianto’s glare, quickly adding, “That’s not a bad thing!”

“I’m your handler,” Ianto corrected. “It’s my job to protect you.”

“Well, you’re not protecting yourself,” Clint observed. “You look like hell.”

***

About ten days after Ianto’s return, the team was hanging out on the eighty-first floor, where the common areas were, as well as workstations for most of them. All of a sudden, Tony piped up.

“Where _is_ Agent Jones?” He dropped something onto his work table. “Every time I need that Welsh smartass, he’s nowhere to be found.”

“Haven’t seen him,” Bruce replied, not looking up from his work.

Vision looked at Ianto, who had been at his workstation all morning. He made to reply, but Ianto gave him a small shake of the head. He was curious.

“I’m worried about him,” Natasha spoke up.

“Yeah, he’s stopped eating with us,” Clint said. “And you know what that means.”

“What does that mean?” Pietro asked, curious.

“Guys,” Steve said in a warning tone. “The guy’s not here to defend himself. Quit gossiping.”

“He’s not very good at taking care of himself sometimes, is all,” Natasha answered Pietro.

“There’s something you should know,” Vision tried to interject. He looked at Ianto, who had turned back to his monitor and was typing away at a report he’d been working on.

“Something’s up with him,” Clint said.

“Clint,” Vision said.

“He pretends I don’t exist,” Wanda said, her mouth turned down in displeasure.

“Ever consider there might be a reason for that, Sunshine?” Clint asked.

“You think there’s a problem?” Steve asked. He had hoped he’d read too much into Ianto’s absence from them.

“He hasn’t hung out with the team since Sokovia,” Clint shrugged.

“No,” Tony corrected. “He hasn’t hung out with the team since Cap kicked him off of it.”

The room went silent. Even Ianto stopped typing. Vision felt no good could come of this, but was powerless to stop it.

“Since what?” Steve finally found his voice.

“What, you think you can come in here and cold-cock our handler, and it not mean anything? You made a choice that night, Cap. You put the wonder twins on the team after assaulting Ianto. And then you kept ‘em, even after he told you she was still playing you.”

“Tony,” Vision said, but of course he was ignored.

“Now. He may be a _sensitive_ creature, and he can be too precious by half, and he’s got some sort of savior/martyr thing going on that his shrink should really look into…” He hesitated, then muttered, “Then again, don’t we all…”

“Tony!” Vision exclaimed.

Tony glanced at Vision but kept speaking. “…but he’s one of the smartest, funniest, most capable people I’ve ever met, and he’s a good man. He took out _Hydra_ ,” he shook his head. “And he takes care of us.”

“I tried to talk to him,” Steve hung his head. “I wanted to explain my decision.”

The room grew quiet for a moment, and Vision cleared his throat. “Would now be a good time to mention that he’s sitting right here?”

Everyone turned to see Ianto at his workstation. He stood and shot his cuffs. “I understand your decision, Steve. I assume I’ll be handed back to SHIELD as an asset, once a suitable replacement has been found. I’ve been vetting candidates for handler, but I’m afraid there aren’t many who could deal with the bullshit and retain their sanity.”

“What?” Steve looked shocked. The others did, as well.

“Well, _you’ve_ handled our bullshit,” Tony said, feeling confused. He could have _sworn_ he’d looked for Jones before complaining about not being able to find him. How had he just overlooked the man? “So are you saying your sanity is in question?”

“My sanity has been in question since I was ten years old,” Ianto snarked.

“Wait,” Steve said. “Just wait.”

“So is this a psychic trick, or tech?” Tony asked. “We know about that perception filter you have, squirrelled away.”

“Agent Jones is not using any tricks or tech,” Vision defended.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Bruce asked.

Ianto shrugged. “I was too surprised that no one but Vision seemed to realize I was sitting right here.”

“Oh, God,” Natasha groaned. “Harkness warned us about this.”

Ianto looked at her sharply. “What?”

“He said that when you’re grieving, you can disappear,” she said. “Said he never knew if it was something to do with your abilities, or that you just know how to take advantage of people’s inattention.”

“I don’t do anything on purpose,” Ianto grumbled.

“Ianto, can I have a word?” Steve was using his ‘captain’ voice.

“How about,” Ianto paused, as though thinking. “Twat?”

The room went quiet again for a full five seconds before it erupted in laughter.

“One word,” Ianto said, his face that same mask he’d been wearing since his return, “my parting gift to you.” He returned to his computer and began typing, again.

The others quickly found other things to do, other places to be. Steve made his way up to Ianto’s workstation and pulled up a chair.

“You were going to kill them, weren’t you?” Steve asked. “Well, maybe not Pietro, but almost certainly Wanda.”

“It’s important to me to keep my promises,” Ianto said, still typing.

“Ianto, stop.”

Ianto finished the sentence he was typing before he stopped and turned to Steve.

“I’m sorry I hit you. I should have found another way, but you were as close to out of control as I’ve ever seen you. And I know you would have regretted taking her life.”

“It would have been difficult, but I would have stood down, had you asked,” Ianto said. “And I know that you hitting me rather than asking me to stand down was her influence. The fact that you put her on the team, knowing that…” Ianto turned away. “I thought you trusted me. But you chose to ignore the advice of your handler and trust someone who can’t seem to stop assaulting our team." His head gave that small not-a-tic shake. “ _Your_ team.”

Steve nodded. “And to your mind, that constituted your walking papers.”

“You have to be able to trust your handler.”

“I wasn’t wrong to add them to the team,” Steve pointed out.

“Perhaps. But you haven’t cleared the air, either. He’s probably fine, but _she_ won’t be a proper, trusted member of the team until that’s happened.”

“The others don’t seem to have a problem.”

“Ah. And we’re back to my opinion not mattering.”

“That’s not…” Steve let out an exasperated sigh.

“Look,” Ianto said, standing abruptly from his chair to face Steve. Steve stood, as well, backing up as Ianto advanced. “I may be _sensitive_ , and I may be _precious_ , and I may be on my way out. But do you want to know what I’m not?” He crowded into Steve’s space and poked his chest. “I’m _not_ wrong. I know _exactly_ what she did to all of you, because I healed the damage from it. So don’t _tell_ me it’s not going to be a problem, if you just sweep it under the rug and ignore it.”

“Okay,” Steve nodded. “I get it. You’re right. We’ll figure something out.”

“Good.” Ianto nodded and backed away, his anger dissipating as quickly as it had flared. That was all he could ask, really.

“Ianto, I did something stupid. I hit you. And I hurt you. More than you’re willing to say, I think. I apologize for that. And for making you feel like I didn’t value your opinion. But I swear to you, that was not me kicking you off of the team. You’re still our handler.”

He reached out and clasped Ianto’s shoulder, only half-surprised when the younger man flinched, slightly. “And Hydra kept assets. That’s not SHIELD. You’ve helped them to be something better than that. They might call on you for help, but they won’t use you, that way. And if they were to try, they’d have to get past the Avengers, to get to you.”

Ianto nodded. “Thanks.”

“Forgive me?”

Ianto nodded. His relief was profound. He remembered the Ancient One warning him to avoid jumping to conclusions, but he’d been beaten, abandoned, and forgotten too often for it not to have an impact when he was raw from psychic shock.

“Okay,” Steve gave him a small smile. He stood and turned to leave. “By the way,” he grinned, “thanks for the word. I’ll treasure it, always.”

“You know, you’re more of a smart-arse than your image would lead one to believe,” Ianto observed.

An olive branch.

Steve grinned. “Well, that image was manufactured by the war propaganda machine. I hate to disappoint, but that’s not an image I ever aspired to live up to.”

“Probably best,” Ianto smiled.

“Probably.” Steve hesitated. Then, “Join us for dinner tonight? It’s just Nat, Clint and me.”

Ianto nodded.

***

A few days later, Ianto was just hitting ‘send’ on his latest correspondence with King T’Chaka of Wakanda, whom he had begun to grow rather fond of, when Pepper stepped off the elevator.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “What?” She looked around as everyone turned to speak to her. The whole team was present, and her eyes widened as she took in the beauty she was seeing.

“What’s up?” Tony slid over to her, taking her hand and kissing her cheek.

She held up her hands and began pressing against something that most definitely wasn’t in front of her.

“Uh, Sweetie?” Tony said, frowning. “Hate to tell ya, but nobody likes a mime.”

“It’s so beautiful!” she said, smiling at Tony.

“What is?”

“The tree,” she looked at him. “You don’t see the knotted tree branches, wrapped around each of us?” She frowned. “Except for them,” she nodded at the Maximoffs.

Tony quickly turned around. “Handler Jones! Vision! Front and center!”

Ianto sat back from his desk, rubbing a hand over his face. He sighed, then grabbed his coffee cup. He was due for a refill, anyway.

“You bellowed?” Ianto asked as Vision stepped up beside him.

“Pepper here is seeing trees. Care to explain why?”

“Only a small portion of the population seems to be able to detect…” Vision began, but Tony cut him off.

“I’m not asking why _Pepper_ can see tree branches. I’m asking why there are tree branches for Pepper to see.”

Vision looked from Tony to Ianto. “I just assumed it was normal.”

Tony hadn’t considered that. “Is it?” he asked. “Normal?”

Ianto looked at Tony. “It is, now.” With that, he stepped past them to the coffee machine.

As he headed back to his desk, Wanda stepped in front of him.

“What is your problem?” she challenged.

Ianto quirked an eyebrow at her. “Are you certain you want to have this conversation?”

“I want to know why you are shielding everyone except for Pietro and me. Like Vision, I thought maybe it was normal. Or habit. But now you say it’s normal, _now_.”

“Yes.”

“What is your problem with me?” she demanded.

“I’m going to give you a chance to walk away and pretend you didn’t ask me that,” Ianto said quietly. “Because if you ask me again, I’m going to answer. And I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to say.”

“Ianto,” Steve said, his voice holding a gentle warning. He regretted not addressing this before now. He was fairly confident the Welshman would not harm Wanda, and he could certainly prevent it from going too far. Then it occurred to him that perhaps this would help to finally clear the air.

“Her choice,” Ianto said, taking a sip of his coffee as Wanda looked at him speculatively.

“What is your problem with me?”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, due to his distrust of Wanda, Ianto has been shielding his friends from her. Next up, he'll let her know exactly why.
> 
> Hope you liked the resolution with Steve. In the end, they just needed to talk it out. Ianto's incredibly forgiving. After all, he was forgiven. He learned forgiveness from Jack, who learned from the Doctor. A legacy to be proud of, amidst the Time Lord's madness. Ianto will require an apology, but he'll not deny forgiveness, once that's been offered with sincerity.
> 
> I kind of deliberately left it open to interpretation, whether Ianto's tendency to disappear when he's hurting is an inadvertent use of his abilities or just keeping his head down in a more traditional sense. Either way, in the end, it's one of those defense mechanisms that only ends up hurting him, because going unnoticed feeds his abandonment issues.
> 
> Sorry, having a stream of consciousness kind of evening, wanting to include everything that didn't fit into the narrative. :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy - kudos and comments actively solicited. :D


	32. Chapter 32

Ianto took another sip of his coffee, then set it down on a nearby table.

“My problem with you is that you are a petulant child with a nuclear weapon.”

“Aw, geez,” Steve muttered.

“What does that mean?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Oh, don’t be disingenuous. It’s unbecoming.” Ianto made sure he knew where Pietro was, in the room behind them.

“No. You tell me.”

“All right. This is an incredible power that has so much potential for good, and so much capacity for evil, and it’s entirely up to the one holding it as to which way it will go. You sought it out,” Ianto said. “And I understand why you did it.” He looked over and caught Pietro’s gaze before turning back to Wanda. “I am sorry for what happened to you both. Truly, I am. But that does _not_ give you the right to wield this power against others, harming them.”

“I…”

“No, I am talking,” Ianto interrupted her. “You asked, and I gave you the chance to avoid my answer, but you insisted. So now you’re going to listen.” He paused to watch her cross her arms with a huff, to be sure she wouldn’t interrupt, again.

“Let’s start with Tony,” Ianto said.

“Uh, let’s not,” Tony piped up, but Pepper squeezed his hand and kept her eyes on Ianto.

“You looked into Tony’s mind,” Ianto said, his eyes boring into Wanda’s. “And rather than seeing the evil arms dealer you were expecting to see, you saw something else. You saw a man trying to do his best by the world. Deeply flawed, like the rest of us, but fundamentally good. Yes?”

She avoided looking at him, now.

“I’ll take that as a yes. And yet, despite what you saw being the polar opposite of what you were expecting to see, you still carried on with your nasty little game. A child with matches, and you couldn’t resist starting a fire, could you? And then you fanned those flames, and preyed upon his worst fears. And worst of all,” he leaned in and whispered in her ear, “you _enjoyed_ doing it.”

Though he was whispering, everyone heard.

“You forced yourself on _my_ team,” Ianto leaned back and began speaking again, his anger building, the longer he spoke. “My _friends_. You invaded their minds against their will, and you hurt them. I have healed them, so they don’t realize. Or perhaps they just don’t dwell on it.” He snarled at her, his voice still low, despite his anger sparking. “But you _raped_ them!”

“No!” Wanda’s eyes glowed red and she pushed against Ianto.

He stepped back but his left hand swung up to catch her by the throat. She became encased in blue light, unable to attack. The rest of the team was too shocked to say anything. Of course, Ianto was right. There was no other way to look at such a violation. But somehow, not naming it had made them able to ignore it.

But ignoring it meant they would never fully heal from it, and Ianto couldn’t allow that.

On seeing his sister restrained, Pietro flew at Ianto, who simply reached out his right hand and took the younger man by the ear, seeming to pluck him from the blur the swiftness of his movements caused.

Ianto turned to Pietro, who was squirming uncomfortably in his hold. “I will not harm her, unless she attempts to attack. Look at her. She is fine, only angry. I will only restrain you if you force me to.” Then Ianto realized the boy’s dilemma. He knew Ianto was right, but he couldn’t _not_ defend his sister. “On second thought,” Ianto wrapped Pietro in a blue branch and sat him on the nearest chair.

Ianto turned back to Wanda. “Now part of the problem is that you were given all of this power, and no guidance. Part of the problem is that maybe no one ever told you it was wrong subvert the will of another, or to force your will on someone else, without their permission. And part of the problem is that first Hydra, and then Ultron lied to you. You thought you were forwarding a good agenda. Or at least, an agenda that would help you live in this world.

“Those problems were perhaps beyond your control. And maybe you started to question your assumptions when you saw the good in these flawed people, and you were just in too deep to keep yourself from hurting them. And we know you broke free of it all when you saw what Ultron had planned.”

Wanda was crying, now. Nodding. Ianto let go of her, so she could speak.

“I… I couldn’t help myself. It was like… a drug. I knew I was hurting them, even as I realized they didn’t deserve it. But it was just too difficult to let go of the vengeance they promised. The justice I craved.”

“You know, I almost ended the world one time,” Ianto said quietly. “Because I couldn’t let go of an idea.”

She stared at him, her eyes wide.

“And the people I hurt forgave me.” He looked at her steadily. “Because they knew I regretted what I’d done, and I asked their forgiveness.”

She nodded. “I will speak to each of them. I do regret…” she looked anguished. “I have not slept, since. I… I don’t know what to do with what I saw.”

“It will help, to speak with them,” Ianto reassured. “And it will take time, but you’ll need to forgive yourself, as well. And,” he hesitated.

“And?” she looked at him as though he offered a lifeline.

“You need to cultivate better habits. You still read people without their permission, and try to manipulate situations, to get your own way. At best, it’s rude. At worst, another violation.”

She flinched. “I will try.”

“I will help,” Vision stepped up, now. “I can help all three of you with your training, if you wish. I know Ianto has a teacher already, but I am happy to help in any way.”

“Thank you,” Ianto replied. “I’ll be taking you up on that, as my teacher is only in the country for a couple of months, each year.”

Vision turned back to Wanda. “And I can help you lock away the dangerous, addictive powers, if you wish.”

She nodded. “Yes, I want that. I never meant to…” she let out a sob, and Ianto released Pietro to come support his twin.

“I do not want to be rapist,” she said, after a few minutes. She stepped back from her brother and swiped at her tears, then looked at Ianto. “But how could you tell…” She looked at him, then her eyes widened. “You know, because you healed them,” she said, then she took a step back and pointed at him. “ _Hrishnyk_!”

“Wait. What?” Tony said. “Friday, what does that mean?”

“Hrishnyk is the Ukrainian word for sin-eater,” Friday replied.

Wanda was crossing herself and muttering something in Ukrainian, and Pietro joined in. Vision looked at Ianto, who was staring at them in horror.

“Stop that, this instant!” Ianto exclaimed.

“But…” Wanda looked.

“No!” Complete with pointing finger of warning.

“Ianto, what’s she talking about?” Steve asked.

“There’s no point in keeping it from them, now,” Vision offered reasonably. “One Google search, and they’ll figure it out.”

“I wasn’t keeping it from them,” Ianto turned to Vision. “I just…” he looked away. “Wasn’t ready to explain it, yet.”

“Explain what?” Natasha stepped up and took Ianto’s hand. “Whatever it is, you can tell us.”

“It’s why he thought you’d kicked him off team,” Wanda said. “Everywhere it is the same. Hrishnyk is reviled, cast out. Only in Sokovia is hrishnyk seen as holy man.”

“Oh, don’t even,” Ianto turned back on her and pointed again. “Just stop.”

Tony would normally have already begun giving no end of grief. Too much easy fodder, not even knowing what the terms meant. Sin-eater? Holy man? It was low-hanging fruit. Hell, he could think of three dirty jokes about sin-eating, without even trying. Just one thing held him back: Ianto was barely refraining from freaking the hell out.

By some silent agreement, they all converged on the common area and sat. Clint and Natasha sat on either side of Ianto, who was wringing his hands.

“So what’s a sin-eater?” Tony asked. He, Banner, and Steve were sitting on the opposite couch. Pepper sat on the arm of the sofa, next to Tony. Vision and the twins sat in chairs to either side.

Ianto was glad they were starting with the easy thing to answer. “In some cultures, if a person died without confession, a sin-eater would be called in. They would eat a ritual meal in order to take on the sins of the deceased. This would allow the absolution of that person’s soul.”

“How Catholic,” Tony muttered, and Pepper swatted his arm, shushing him.

“Because they carried all of the sins of all of the people whose sins they’d eaten, they were reviled,” Ianto said quietly. “Cast out, living as hermits, only called upon when their services were required.”

“You’d think that sort of thing would be appreciated, not punished,” Bruce said, frowning.

“Oh, c’mon. You’re not buying this, are you?” Tony scoffed.

“No, but for those who believed, you would think…” Bruce shrugged.

“Exactly!” Wanda said. “It is sacred thing. It is why Sokovians consider them holy.”

“And what exactly does all of this have to do with you, Agent Jones?” Tony asked. “Are you trying to tell us you’ve been moonlighting?”

“Oh, Tony,” Pepper sighed. “Don’t be thick.” She looked at Ianto, who returned her gaze steadily. “It’s a sort of metaphor, isn’t it?”

“Oh, God,” Natasha said, as the penny dropped.

“Did you just call me thick?” Tony looked at Pepper with a frown.

“You didn’t just heal us,” Natasha said, turning to Ianto. “You _took on_ our pain. Didn’t you?”

Ianto nodded.

“That’s why you had those reactions?” Clint asked. “The migraines and nosebleeds?”

“Yes and no,” Ianto said quietly. “There’s not always a direct translation of what I take. It usually just vaguely translates to pain. What can be transmuted to something positive stays with me…”

“Wait. Transmuted? And how do you decide what’s positive?” Tony asked.

“I…” Ianto hesitated. “It’s difficult to explain. And it’s not what I decide. It’s the nature of the thing. What’s rooted in love is positive. So grief, loss… those things transmute to something that I can… assimilate. But anger, hatred… those things are rooted in fear, and I carry them until they can work their way out of my system.”

“Assimilate?” Steve asked.

Ianto frowned. “I’m not sure how to explain. There’s a sort of well of power that I draw from. What I can assimilate adds to it.” He frowned. “Or maybe deepens it.”

“So it affects capacity. The volume of the container,” Bruce speculated. At Ianto’s nod, he frowned. “But we’ve seen how it can all be drained. How does it replenish?”

“The Mind Stone was forged from one of a number of singularities at the dawn of creation,” Vision explained. “It is a conduit, if you will, for that frequency of energy, everywhere in the universe. It is a practically unlimited source. In touching the stone, Agent Jones became another conduit, albeit a more limited one, as instead of taking possession of the stone, he was imprinted by it.”

“So the well will always replenish.”

“Assuming he doesn’t kill himself in emptying it,” Vision said, with a touch of Jarvis’ old sarcasm.

“And the wonder twins?” Tony asked.

“They have been changed by the stone, but they do not carry its imprint,” Vision answered. “And before you ask, I am uncertain as to why. Perhaps it is because they did not touch it.”

“No, we did not,” Pietro confirmed. “No one did, after the first few.” At their questioning glances, he shrugged. “No one who tried to touch or hold it survived.”

Vision nodded. “And perhaps it is because Agent Jones’ encounter with the stone was more visceral, more violent. And it was almost definitely influenced by his existing abilities, as well as his latent capacity.”

They absorbed this for a moment before Clint asked, “And what about the nosebleeds and migraines?”

Ianto shook his head. “The nosebleeds and migraines are more about how the process of healing someone taxes my system.”

“So when you say you carry these things,” Steve frowned.

“The memories and feelings become as much mine as the person I’ve healed,” Ianto admitted quietly.

“Ianto,” Natasha got up on her knees and turned in her seat so she was facing him, then pulled him into a hug.

“You said you’d only get an idea of why you were feeling things your empathy picked up,” Steve said, feeling uneasy.

Ianto pulled away from Natasha. “I’m sorry. It did start out, that way. But now…” he shook his head. “I see it all. I’m sorry I misled you, but I was incapable of explaining it that night, and I needed to heal you while I was still upright and able.”

Steve nodded. He didn’t appreciate the lie, but he understood it. And he felt terrible that the reason his grief wasn’t still plaguing him was because Ianto had taken enough of it on himself to ease Steve’s suffering.

“That’s why you took the attacks so personally,” Bruce said. “It happened to each of us, just once. But it’s like it happened to you five times.”

“It’s not just that,” Tony leaned forward. “We didn’t think of it as a violation, because he took our feelings of being violated upon himself.” He frowned. “Actually, I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“I took nothing from you that harmed you, in the taking,” Ianto said. His words were carefully chosen. “Would remembering that make you more compassionate, understand certain things better? Probably. But the world needed the team more than you needed a character-building exercise.”

“And you get to make that call?” Tony couldn’t make himself shut up. He wasn’t even mad about it. Hell, he was _grateful_. But he needed to know where Ianto was coming from, on this. Otherwise, it could be viewed as another violation.

“I’m your handler,” Ianto shrugged, as if that were that.

“Look, as character-building as retaining all of that might have been, I’m not sorry it’s gone,” Steve said slowly, and Ianto’s lips quirked into a small smile at the smart-arse beginning to that declaration that the others likely took seriously. “But I am sorry you took it on, yourself.”

Ianto nodded. “My choice, though.”

“Why didn’t you want to tell us?” Clint asked.

“At first, I didn’t know what was happening. I was just trying to keep it together. Took about a month, to realize. Then I still needed to keep it together. Healing what Loki did was _hard_. In a different way than…” he glanced at Wanda. “Anyway. I felt like I was getting a handle on it, but other things were sort of unfolding, as well.”

“Like this tree thing?” Tony asked.

“I was able to do some psychic shielding, before the Mind Stone,” Ianto shrugged. “Same concept now, but that reservoir of power means I can do a better job of it.”

“So at first you were just trying to figure it out,” Clint tried to get the conversation back on track.

Ianto nodded. “And then… I’ll admit, when I realized the extent to which it was happening, I remembered the concept of sin-eater. I didn’t come up Catholic. Not even Christian. But I still knew the stories. There had been one in my nan’s village.” He shook his head. “And then things started getting… twisted.”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked.

Ianto shook his head. “The Mind Stone’s power is neutral. It’s just power. Potential. Creative force. What it does – whether it ends up being good or bad – depends on the intention behind how it’s used. My focus is on healing and protecting. Most would call that positive. Wanda’s was vengeance…”

“Which most would agree is negative,” Bruce said, nodding.

Ianto gave Wanda an understanding look. “So the Stone’s power was twisted by that intention. And when I healed the damage, I took on some of that twist.”

“In what way?” Steve asked.

“All the things I’d heard, about being cast out. And then, that night,” he gestured vaguely towards Steve, unwilling to speak of the sense of betrayal and abandonment he’d felt, when Steve had decked him. “And again, waking up on the helicarrier.” He looked down and shrugged. “It all fed the fear that I hadn’t offloaded, yet.”

“And you became convinced you were off the team,” Steve nodded.

“And you were also worried about telling us you were taking something from us, when you healed us,” Natasha said.

Ianto shifted on the couch. “Well…”

“Oh, God,” Tony groaned. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

“It could have been a fluke,” Ianto said. “Or because he’s not human.”

“What?” Natasha asked. “Something about Thor?”

“He thought about lightning, while I was healing him,” Ianto admitted.

“And so that freakishly large ground-to-cloud lightning bolt that came out of the woods was you?” Tony asked, leaning forward, again. “How?”

“Shared intention,” Vision looked thoughtful. “As you said, Thor is not human. He thought of lightning as you were healing him, so he shared a kernel of it with you.” He looked at Ianto, curious. “Can you call lightning, now?”

“Oh my God,” Steve pointed. “Your stun gun. On the bridge, in Novi Grad.”

Pietro grinned. “I thought maybe it was some tech of Stark’s. But I couldn’t figure out how it was still working, even though it was melted.”

“Holy shit,” Tony said, his eyes wide.

“Don’t get too excited,” Ianto said. “No, I can’t just summon lightning. But I seem to be able to control the flow of a spark, if I can catch hold of it.”

“So with a trigger, you can manipulate the energy?” Bruce was already thinking.

“Like that mutie kid,” Tony snapped his fingers. “Carries a lighter. Because he can manipulate fire, but he can’t _create_ it.”

“Oh, God,” Bruce said, looking a different kind of green. “What if you take on… _stuff_ , when you heal people? How do we know you won’t…”

“Because there were no coherent thoughts to manifest something like that,” Ianto reassured.

“But how can you be sure?”

Because I didn’t turn green the night Steve showed up with the twins,” Ianto replied.

“Oh,” Bruce sat back, satisfied. Ianto had been _incandescent_ , that night. If he was going to turn green, he definitely would have, then.

“So,” Ianto said, looking around. “Are we good?”

“Of course,” Steve said, looking around at the others, who were all nodding.

Natasha hugged him. “We won’t turn you away, bratishka.”

“You should do that more,” Vision observed.

“What?” Ianto asked.

“Physical contact settles your system.”

“Are you saying that cuddling our handler would be beneficial to him?” Natasha asked in a teasing voice, hurling herself at Ianto.

“Ger off,” Ianto laughed from where she was snuggling him.

Vision recognized that Ianto was unwilling to ask for the comfort he needed, though he could not determine why. But if his friends knew, it would eliminate any need to ask.

As the laughter calmed and the room grew quiet again, Wanda cleared her throat. “And are _we_ good, Handler?”

“We’ll get there,” Ianto promised. He gave her a gentle smile, and she began to understand why the others loved him so much.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Hope that all made sense. 
> 
> Next up is a Christmas piece that stomped in. Work and life have been kicking my backside this week (and - sadly - this weekend), so I don't have as much down as I could wish. But I do have a bunch mapped out.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think - I love hearing from you guys! :)


	33. Chapter 33

The team seemed to settle down, after Ianto and Wanda cleared the air. It took her a few days, but she spoke to each of those whom she had attacked, apologizing and asking their forgiveness. It was fairly easily granted, as Ianto had taken away the emotional trigger that would have been the primary impediment to forgiveness. She found that he had been correct. She felt better, having been forgiven. And she slept better.

The team spent the holidays together, each happy to have the rest to celebrate with. Even Phil joined them, with his girlfriend, a cellist named Audrey who had been awarded a fellowship with the Philharmonic. It was entirely deserved, but the funding had mysteriously been offered shortly after the Battle of New York, enticing the talented musician away from another offer in Portland.

Ianto admired Pepper’s ability to not appear smug about that.

It was unfortunate that as always, Christmas was interesting for Ianto to navigate. He had arranged a video call with his sister and her family for early afternoon, their time. He had asked her if the kids had a favorite Avenger they would like to meet, and was thankful that neither of the kids (nor Johnny) named Thor, who sadly would be absent from the festivities. (He had actually returned to Asgard before Ianto awakened on the helicarrier.)

Ianto made the call from the common room StarkTV around mid-morning, and it started off strangely, with the kids subdued and Rhiannon her usual charming self. Johnny tried to fill the awkward silences, his efforts making him louder rather than more effective as the conversation went on.

“Thanks for the gifts, Ianto,” Johnny smiled broadly as Rhiannon rolled her eyes. “Big hit, they were. We just had our Christmas lunch, so everyone’s all sleepy. But we told ‘em you had a surprise for them.”

The kids perked up, and Rhiannon stomped from the room, grumbling loudly about Ianto’s poncy apartment and how he was always putting on airs. Ianto ignored her and smiled at the kids.

“Hey Daf,” he tried. “You have a good Christmas?”

“Yeah,” David replied, looking around to be sure his mam was out of the room. “Thanks for the football, and the video games.”

“Well, I’ve also got someone here who wants to say hello. Who’s your favorite Avenger?”

“Iron Man,” David said slowly. “Why?”

“Well, it just so happens that he’s a friend and co-worker of mine.”

David looked dubious. “Really?”

Just then, Tony leaned over the back of the couch to Ianto’s left and smiled. “Hey, kiddo! Merry Christmas!”

David did a slow blink that was very much like one of his uncle’s expressions. Then his eyes narrowed. “Who’re you?”

Tony was unfazed, much to Ianto’s relief. “Name’s Tony. You’re David, right?”

“Yeah,” David said, his voice tailing up at the end. “And you’re Iron Man?”

“Yep,” Tony said. “You know, your uncle told me you’re a clever kid. Careful. Not likely to be fooled. So I figured you’d want to see this.” Tony held up his right hand, which was encased in a red and gold gauntlet. In the next moment, it began unfolding, wrapping itself around Tony until he was fully suited, except for the helmet.

“Wow!” David marveled.

“You like that?” Tony grinned. “Wanna see the helmet?”

“Yeah!”

The helmet ratcheted up over Tony’s head, and he gave the kid a wink before the mask fell into place.

“Cool!” he said.

Ianto saw Johnny filming the call with his phone, and he was sorry that they would be disappointed when they found the signal had been scrambled, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Stay frosty, kid,” Tony stood from where he’d been leaning and gave a wave. “Merry Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas, Iron Man!” David grinned, then looked at his dad, who grinned back and gave him a thumbs up. Ianto could tell they were both chuffed to meet their favorite Avenger.

“Hey, Mica,” Ianto called out, and the little girl peeked around her brother. Johnny pulled David out of the way so she could have her surprise, too.

“Bore da, Wncwl,” she said primly.[1]

“Prynhawn da, Melys,” Ianto replied, smiling.[2]

“Mam says you live in New York now,” she said.

Ianto nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“She says that’s a good thing, so we don’t have to see you anymore.”

“Mica,” Johnny said in a chiding tone.

She looked at her father, then uncertainly back at Ianto, who gave her a sad smile. “Not if you don’t want to, love.” He cleared his throat. “But how about your surprise, and then I’ll go?”

She raised her chin. “I don’t like Iron Man,” she announced, and Ianto heard Tony give a little squeak.

“Who do you like, then?”

“I like Black Widow,” she said. 

“Well you’re in luck,” Natasha said, sitting down next to Ianto and giving him a peck on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Bestie,” she grinned.

Ianto gave her a fleeting look of fond exasperation, but she was already facing Mica, whose eyes were as big as saucers. 

“Are you having a good Christmas, Mica?” she asked.

Mica nodded vigorously.

“I’m glad.”

“Can I ask you something?” Mica leaned forward.

“Of course,” Natasha smiled. They had all grown used to answering kids’ questions.

“Why aren’t there any other women Avengers?” Mica asked.

It was Natasha’s eyes that had grown large now, and Ianto barked out a laugh. “Actually, we are working on that, Mica.”

“I bet it’s hard, because of all the cool jobs women already have,” Mica nodded, having decided this to be true. “Like the Queen.”

“The Queen is quite cool,” Ianto confirmed. “But you’ll be happy to know that w-the Avengers do have another female team member. Her name is Wanda.”

“Can I meet her?”

“I don’t know if she’s available, right now,” Ianto looked at Wanda uncertainly, his expression saying it was up to her.

Wanda grinned and walked over to sit on Ianto’s left. Like Natasha, she gave Ianto a peck on the cheek. “Shchaslyvoho Rizdva, mala,” she smiled.[3]

“What are you called?” Mica asked.

“They call me Scarlet Witch,” Wanda answered. Mica’s saucer eyes were back, because Wanda’s eyes were glowing red as she formed a Christmas tree from the red mist she was manipulating with her hands.

“What does that mean?” Mica asked, her voice awed. “Shtre…”

“Shchaslyvoho Rizdva is Ukrainian for Merry Christmas,” Ianto answered. He thought it best not to mention Sokovia, and Wanda smiled her understanding.

“Wow,” Mica said. She looked from Natasha to Wanda and back again, and nodded. “Cool, but you still need more.”

“We’ll get right on that,” Natasha said, her voice dryly amused.

“All right, kids, I’m sure your uncle is much too busy and important to be on the phone any longer,” Rhiannon came charging back into the room.

“It’s still morning, here,” Ianto replied laconically. “I can talk as long as they’d like.”

Rhiannon bristled. She grabbed the kids by their arms and practically threw them out of the room. 

“Well I don’t want them talking to _you_ ,” she sneered. “Filling their heads with lies, acting like you’re something important. Have you lot blown up any more cities lately?” she asked nastily. 

“Rhia,” Johnny protested.

“Tad was always right, you know. You’re nothing special, Ifan. And you can pretend all you’d like, but you’ll never amount to anything.”

“So you’ve said,” Ianto replied, perfectly composed.

“Don’t call here again,” she snarled, and the picture went blank.

“Well,” Ianto huffed. “That went better than usual.” He stood and stretched, then looked around at the others, who looked a bit shell-shocked. “Sorry about that.”

He got up and went to the bar, where brunch was being laid out. Everyone was watching him awkwardly and he sighed. “Look, I’m sorry you had to see that. She doesn’t always go off on one, but it’s not exactly unusual, either.”

“That was your sister?” Pietro asked, frowning. It was literally incomprehensible to him, for a sister treat her brother that way.

Ianto nodded, and smiled at the twins. He wasn’t jealous of them, really. Just… wistful. “We were never very close, and she… blames me for some things.”

“And you pissed her off by being the coolest uncle, ever,” Natasha smirked. She knew the exchange had hurt Ianto more than he was willing to admit. 

“You think she meant it?” Clint asked. “About not calling again?”

Ianto shrugged. “Probably. I’ll try again next Christmas, though. You know, if…” he caught himself and trailed off.

“If what?” Tony asked, frowning.

Ianto gave a little head shake and grabbed a mimosa from the bar. “Doesn’t matter. Old Torchwood habit. Just thinking out loud.” He spotted something on the counter and made a grab for it. “This is Myfanwy’s favorite,” he smiled, holding up the bar of dark chocolate. “Think I’ll go wish her a happy Christmas.”

They let him make his escape, knowing that even if he cared little for his sister’s opinion, her words had still hurt. Once the elevator doors closed, though, Tony turned to the others. “If _what_?”

“If he’s still alive,” Natasha said quietly.

“What?” Bruce frowned.

“Until recently, the life expectancy of a Torchwood Three operative was abysmal. It was better for non-field agents at Torchwood One, but they all died, anyway.”

“You are talking about Canary Wharf,” Wanda said.

“Ianto was one of only twenty-seven survivors,” Natasha said.

“He was there?” Pietro looked horrified.

“He lost all of his closest friends and coworkers, his roommate, and eventually, his girlfriend. Then at Torchwood Three, he lost three out of five coworkers in less than two years’ time. I think he honestly didn’t expect to make it to thirty, so I imagine he got used to saying that if he was still around, he’d try again next Christmas with that horrible sister of his.”

“That wasn’t just horrible,” Pepper said, looking sad. “That was abusive.”

“Anyone else want to punch her in teeth?” Wanda asked. There were snickers all around and she frowned. “Did I say this wrong?”

“You said it perfectly, and we’re laughing because we probably all had that thought,” Natasha smiled. “I can’t tell you how close I came to giving her a swirly in the toilet at Windsor Castle.”

Now the others were laughing, the sadness of the moment set aside in their mutual support of their handler.

***

Steve went looking for Ianto an hour later. He found the younger man sitting in Myfanwy’s cave. 

“Did she go hunting?” Steve asked.

Ianto blinked from his reverie and looked at Steve, his eyes dry but incredibly sad. “Yeah. Got her chockie fix and flew off for a sheep chaser.”

Steve chuckled. “Hope she stayed for some cuddles, first.” He hesitated as Ianto nodded fondly. “Looked like you could use them.”

The smile sort of evaporated from Ianto’s face. “Doesn’t seem right to not at least try, but she tears my heart out, every time.”

“Do,” Steve sat next to Ianto, who was on one of Myfanwy’s many doggie beds, leaning against the back wall of the little cave. “Do you know why?”

Ianto sniffed. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, where some smart-arse had done cave paintings. That, or Myfanwy had hidden talents…

He closed his eyes. His loneliness was so acute it clawed at him sometimes, and yet when someone reached out, it was so hard to open up. He forced himself to speak. 

“I ever tell you my father is in prison?” he asked. When Steve shook his head, Ianto went on. “When I was ten, he went after my mam. Again. Nothing new, but I figured I was finally big enough to try to make him stop.” He chuckled. “So you see already that not much has changed, in that my ambitions often outweigh my sense.”

Steve chuckled, and Ianto sighed. “He turned on me. Gave me more than the beating he normally handed out. Broke my nose, one orbital, and my jaw. And four ribs. Collapsed a lung. Damaged one kidney, bruised the other. Bruised my spine. Destroyed my spleen…” Ianto turned his head to Steve. “He got tired of punching after a while, see. Started stomping.”

Steve let out an angry breath but said nothing. Now that Ianto was talking, it seemed that he needed to finish.

“Mam called Heddlu for the first time in her life. He turned back on her and beat her pretty badly before they showed up. She was in hospital for a week.”

“And you?” Steve found his voice and realized he was close to tears.

“Ten weeks,” Ianto sniffed again. “She wasn’t fit to give testimony – too afraid of him, but too afraid of being left alone without him.” He shrugged. “I was too young to be called as a witness.” He shook his head. “So I was presented as evidence.”

“Jesus.”

“Rhiannon blames me for sending him up.”

“How was that possibly your fault?”

“I provoked him.”

“That’s insane.”

“Runs in the family,” Ianto deadpanned.

“So she blames you for your father being in prison.”

Ianto blew out a breath. “That, and for our mother’s death.”

“ _What_?”

“I didn’t stop her, see. Didn’t get home in time. Didn’t find her, before she bled out.” He looked at Steve, who was frowning in confusion. “I came home from my job at the corner grocer’s one evening to find her in the bathtub with her wrists slashed.”

“God, Ianto. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“But please tell me you know that neither of those things was your fault.”

Ianto shrugged. “I kind of see her point, with Mam.”

“No,” Steve turned to Ianto and took him by his upper arms. “Look at me, Ianto. That was not your fault. Your mother was sick, and it was up to her to get help. And ultimately, her suicide was her own responsibility. Not yours.” Ianto was staring at him, wide-eyed. “Look. Would your friend Mandy have been to blame, if you’d swallowed that bottle of pills, that night?”

Ianto had explained to them the details of the flashbacks they had witnessed, not long after they mended their fences. Now he looked at Steve, shocked. “Of course not!”

Steve gave him a pointed look that lasted almost thirty seconds before Ianto’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh,” he said quietly.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Steve said, sitting back against the wall.

“You know, I’ve had two shrinks tell me the same thing I don’t know how many times, and it never clicked, until now.”

Steve breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad it finally did.”

“They’d probably either want to kiss you or kick you in the shins,” Ianto chuckled.

“It’s important that you know,” Steve reached out and took Ianto’s hand. “Your sister’s delusional.”

Ianto sniffed, then nodded.

Steve took a deep breath and forged on. “And I don’t think you should contact her anymore.” Ianto drew breath to argue, but Steve squeezed his hand. “She’s abusive, Ianto. And you need to stop allowing it, like it’s okay.”

“It’s just… they’re all the family I have,” Ianto said quietly.

“And I’m gonna tell you what you told me, in Brynnblaidd. _We’re_ your family, now. We love you, Ianto, and we’re _always_ going to stand beside you.”

If Ianto ended up sobbing into Steve’s chest for a few moments, it could be chalked up to the lingering vulnerability brought on by the previous month’s bout of psychic shock that he was still recovering from.

After he calmed, he chuckled. Steve gave him an enquiring look.

“The doctors tell me my bum kidney’s all better. And I seem to have regrown my spleen.”

Steve snorted. “You get used to it.”

“And I can’t even blame bloody Torchwood,” Ianto lamented.

They returned upstairs to lounge and watch television and pick at the abundance of food that was laid out. If the team was a bit more casually cuddly with their handler, no one made note of it.

Ianto’s tree now encompassed the tower and several blocks around it without any real effort on his part. There was a strange hour or so in the afternoon when the area outside its reach turned into Harold Saxon. By the time they figured out most of the world was in a similar predicament, the situation had reversed itself.

Ianto confirmed the Doctor’s involvement, but no one seemed to have much information, and the Time Lord himself had disappeared, as usual. Ianto felt a shiver in the air that he couldn’t quite identify, though he was certain it was to do with the Doctor. All he could do was say a prayer for the Time Lord’s well-being. Despite all that had happened, he knew the Doctor had done a great deal of good for the world.

On the plus side, Christmas supper was not delayed by the strangeness.

Once the uneasiness of encountering the Master again (if only from a distance) subsided, the rest of the holiday was festive and fun, and Ianto ended the day piled together with everyone on the sofas in the common area, watching sappy old movies. Ianto and Natasha made up dramatic Russian dialogue, and Wanda and Pietro occasionally added Ukrainian, with Ianto contributing the odd phrase, here and there. They noted he was picking up the language at an alarming rate.

***

[1] Good morning, Uncle.

[2] Good afternoon, Sweetling.

[3] Merry Christmas, little one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have learned not to post chapters while the Archive is doing strange things. Makes me paranoid. Hope everyone liked how Ianto blasted Wanda before forgiving her, in the last chapter. I know some folks prefer punishment over forgiveness, but I just can't imagine Ianto denying the forgiveness that saved him when his own actions caused harm. And I do think Jack's forgiveness saved Ianto, quite literally. Plus, holding a grudge is easy. Forgiveness is _hard_ , and takes incredible strength. And Ianto is incredibly strong.
> 
> Anyway...
> 
> This chapter seemed random when it came to me, but it has since grown on me. It gives more of Ianto's history, and shows how close the team has become. 
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe and well. Let me hear from you! :)


	34. Chapter 34

**_Azi  
_ ** _(Romanian Newspaper Classified Ads)_

_Lost: One WWII classic. Many thanks for recommendation of day trip. Was most satisfactory, outside of unexpected additional travel. Must be said that restoration most assuredly nothing to do with Alba. Further such suggestions will be met with invitation to go try to reproduce with self. Work to address safety concerns ongoing but would prefer to recover lost item in order to carry out final phase. Will proceed regardless by most famous Ides._

_If found (please) contact Ioan Ioanescu (+40770697789)._

***

As a new year dawned, Ianto found himself working tirelessly, his time divided among several projects. He was up between three and four each morning, spending several hours trying to keep the Avengers independent of politically motivated interference. Then he trained with the team, either physical workouts with Steve, Clint, Natasha, and Pietro, intellectual exercises with Tony and Bruce, or mental practices with Vision and Wanda.

After showering and eating, he would divide his work between the Avengers and SHIELD, flowing smoothly between the two. He was still responsible for the occasional retrieval and containment of alien tat, and he sometimes took one of the others with him. But for the most part, his duties with SHIELD were confined to submitting reports.

He still had sessions with one of the SHIELD therapists, and he spent several evenings a week training with the Ancient One. The balance of his time was spent on a special project that required a great deal of coordination and effort. Pepper had volunteered to assist him, and they were hopeful for a successful conclusion in the next few months.

In the wake of the destruction of Novi Grad, a special committee had been formed, with representatives from Wakanda and Sokovia, among others. There was concern about the lack of oversight for the Avengers, which many assumed resulted in the creation of Ultron.

Ianto took the brunt of the flack, addressing each concern as it arose. Sometimes Phil would accompany him, sometimes Steve. On one occasion, Ianto brought Tony, but threatened his life if he spoke out of turn. For once, Tony listened, only conveying his regret and communicating his original intention, in creating Ultron. The committee became a bit more sympathetic, when they learned of the manipulations the team had suffered.

Thankfully, Ianto quickly earned the trust and respect of those on the committee. One of the representatives of Sokovia was the mayor of Novi Grad, who recognized Ianto and was always willing to at least hear him out. In addition, King T’Chaka of Wakanda had come to admire the young man who had been intelligent and articulate in his communications, challenging the king’s assumptions about the Avengers and their purpose, and educating him on the series of events that led to the creation of Ultron.

One of the ideas bandied about immediately after the fall of the city included the demand that a list of powered people be compiled. Of course, it was backed by those who simply wanted to control mutants. And while at first blush it seemed as though it might be a solution, the committee had the wisdom to recognize the inherent danger of such a thing, and fortunately that idea was tabled, early on.

The idea that the Avengers be accountable to some sort of governing body had also been wildly popular. Ianto pointed out the perils of putting the power of a group like the Avengers under the control of a group with political motivations. He invoked Steve’s very wise words that the best hands were still their own, as they had no agenda, other than protecting the world. And he reminded them of how easily such an idea would have, less than a year and a half before, put Earth’s mightiest heroes at Hydra’s beck and call.

He also respectfully informed them that forcing the Avengers into a political arena would most likely either break them up or drive them underground. And in the most non-threatening way possible, he let them know that whatever political body they chose (the United Nations had been the leading contender, up to that moment), that body would then be responsible for relief activities that had, until now, been handled by the Stark Relief Foundation.

In the end, Ianto proposed a compromise. The committee would stand, and provide oversight. SHIELD would continue to provide support, as well as checks and balances. And the Avengers would self-regulate, though with some stronger safeguards in place.

Ianto had drafted a document and fine-tuned it with the team, knowing they would have to buy into it, if it had any chance of surviving. He jokingly called it their Magna Carta, but he wasn’t far off. It was their agreement, their pledge for how they would conduct themselves in order to avoid another Novi Grad.

Knowing full well that the UN didn’t have the resources to help with relief and recovery in the wake of an Avengers-level event, the committee realized they did not have much besides the moral high ground to bargain with. But the Avengers hadn’t exactly taken the low road. Due to the efforts of the Stark Relief Foundation, Novi Grad was being rebuilt, its citizens being made whole in every way possible, from food subsidies and housing provisions to treatment for physical injuries, as well as PTSD.

Given the fact that what the Avengers were offering was precisely what the world was asking for, the committee agreed and the deal was struck. The Magna Carta was signed by each Avenger, including Ianto, and every committee member.

It became known as the Sokovia Accords. They were ratified in March, with the plan to present them at an upcoming United Nations meeting in Vienna, in May.

***

Ianto’s other project – the one that occupied every waking hour not devoted to his regular duties and his training – also showed fantastic progress during the opening months of the new year.

From the moment he was granted access, Ianto had scoured Hydra’s records, pulling out everything to do with Sergeant Barnes. He read every record, watched every video, and listened to every comm and mission recording. It was a horrific, grisly task, but he became well-acquainted with every crime that Hydra had forced its Asset to commit.

It made him ill to know that Barnes was out there, remembering these things and trying to come to terms with them, by himself. Without someone to remind him that none of it had been his fault. That it had not been _him_.

Ianto painstakingly compiled a list. All of the Asset’s offenses, listed by country. He prepared everything a prosecution team would need to pursue a case, for each offense. And then he prepared the defense.

Ianto was not an attorney. He knew little about the law. But he knew about gathering information and evidence. And he knew whom to ask for assistance in vetting everything compiled. Someone on SHIELD’s radar, though in a very vague way, due to a childhood accident.

It had taken more than eight months of working on it in his spare time, but once Ianto had compiled what he needed, he reached out to the law firm of Nelson and Murdock, a small establishment manned by two young crusaders extremely fresh out of law school. Despite their inexperience, they had helped to bring down Wilson Fisk and his criminal enterprise, and Ianto had a feeling they were just the ones to help him. And thankfully, he had a bankroll for the project.

Years before, Pepper had established a foundation of her own, funded by the various bonuses Tony had thrown at her with alarming frequency, from the beginning of her tenure. Truth be told, in addition to Christmas and her birthday, he gave her an almost obscene bonus every time he knew he’d embarrassed or truly angered her. Which was a mere fraction of the number of times he had, but still. He got points for trying, and more for not allowing her to refuse the bonuses.

She was the sole arbiter of how the foundation’s now substantial funds were distributed, and when Ianto first approached her for advice on how to help Sergeant Barnes, she decided that _this_ was the cause she had been waiting for.

The retainer Ianto offered would be sufficient to get Nelson and Murdock up and running (properly) and put them in a position to keep helping people outside of this case. The first meeting, held just after Ianto’s birthday the previous August, was interesting – a chance for them to size one another up.

Ianto immediately liked Foggy. He wasn’t certain about Karen Page. She wasn’t a clear threat, but she was hiding an awful lot. He could only hope it wasn’t something dangerous. But Murdock… He was something else, entirely.

These observations were of the type that Ianto could not prevent. It was the same as someone else noticing that Ianto’s eyes were blue. He simply couldn’t block out the background empathic noise that was part and parcel of the human experience. But he could refrain from probing deeper. It took every shred of self-control to do that with Murdock, during that first meeting.

Murdock was blind, in that he could not see in the traditional sense, but Ianto could tell he could ‘see’ in a much more expanded sense of the word. Ianto could tell that Murdock took things in sensorially in much the same way Ianto did, empathically. He vaguely wondered what Murdock saw when he looked at him.

To his credit, Matt Murdock did not react (much) when Ianto Jones entered their offices for a meeting. It had been a bit mysterious, in that Jones would not give very much information, other than he would need help in multiple, international jurisdictions. So when Jones showed up for the meeting, Foggy and Matt had no idea what to expect.

What they did not expect was a soft-spoken Welshman, roughly their own age, though Foggy later remarked that his eyes looked about twice as old, as though he’d seen an awful lot in a short amount of time. And what Matt did not expect was the beautiful blue glow, shot with silver, where he normally would see a grey blob that represented the person before him. To smell _power_ , though of a type he hadn’t encountered before. And to hear a vibration of life and sorrow woven into the timbre of the man’s voice. Whatever Ianto Jones was, he was beautifully human, and yet… not quite.

Or something else, besides.

And the case he brought was breathtaking in its heartbreak and humanity. It would be a preemptive strike. It would be something that would offer Barnes his life back.

Ianto began by giving them an overview of what he wanted. Of course by now, everyone had a rudimentary knowledge of Hydra, but Ianto offered them more information, should they take the case. He told them of Barnes, a Howling Commando who had slipped from Steve Rogers’ grasp and fallen from a speeding train during a mission in 1945. Sadly, he fell not to his death, but to his imprisonment. In broad terms, Ianto described the brainwashing and abuse.

Then he pulled out a folder, though he did not open it. After all, he knew the details by broken heart. He told them of crimes the Asset committed whilst under Hydra’s control. Hundreds of crimes, over more than six decades, in twenty-eight different countries, including the United States.

“And you want to hand the evidence over to these countries?” Foggy asked, frowning.

“I’ll look to you for your advice on how best to proceed, but based on my research, it seems that if we could get each of these countries to allow all of these cases to be heard here, then as the federal court prepares its case, we can either apply for amnesty with the Department of Justice or for a pardon with the President. Or maybe both.”

Foggy leaned back and whistled. “Twenty-seven extraterritorial jurisdiction applications, and the associated hearings, then the big case, here. And then amnesty and/or a pardon.” He nodded. “At first blush, that seems to be the way to go.”

Matt nodded his agreement. “I take it you’ve gathered all of the evidence?”

Ianto nodded, then remembered himself. “Yes,” he said. He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and slid it across the table to Foggy. “We would expect it to be a fairly short but intense process. This is the initial retainer, and you can bill us for another if it’s used up too soon or we can settle up, at the end. Likewise, if it is more than sufficient for your hours, you keep what is left, at the end.”

As Foggy opened the envelope and saw the number of zeroes on the check inside, Ianto had the sudden urge to invite him to one of the poker games Clint regularly arranged. Crusaders they were, but they were also hungry. The shabbiness of their offices spoke to that, but they were both highly intelligent and had unimpeachable integrity.

He made sure not to smile, even as he couldn’t shut out Foggy’s rush of excitement and… _interesting_. Murdock’s excitement had grown apace with Nelson’s, as though he could sense his business partner’s exhilaration. But he had a much better poker face.

“I do not wish to rush you, but I am hoping for an answer today. I’ll need to find another firm if you aren’t interested, and I’d like to begin reviewing things right away, if you are.” He looked from one to the other. “I skipped breakfast. How about I step out and eat? Would an hour be sufficient for you to make a decision, do you think?”

Matt smiled. “That should be more than enough time. There’s a little diner around the corner that serves an incredible breakfast, if you’re not too mindful of the state of your arteries.”

Ianto smiled. “Thank you. I’ll call back in an hour.”

As he left, he felt an explosion of excitement as Foggy almost shouted the amount of the check. Ianto couldn’t blame him, really.

There really were _a lot_ of zeroes.

Unsurprisingly, when he called back an hour later, they accepted his offer. They had agreed that Matt would run point, devoting all of his time to the case, and Foggy would provide research support, devoting about half his time. Interestingly, they wanted Foggy to do any press associated with the case.

Ianto shifted. “I believe technically, Sergeant Barnes is your client. But does attorney-client privilege extend to me, as well?”

Foggy cast a wary glance at Matt, who answered, “Of course.”

“Okay. There are some things you should know, then.” Ianto then let them know that he was a SHIELD agent, and the Avengers’ handler. While neither position was covert, nor was he normally at liberty to disclose them, so he wanted to keep the information protected.

Matt had told Foggy that there was something different about Jones. So naturally, Foggy couldn’t resist asking, “So… do you… you know… Have powers?”

Ianto’s stoic face broke into a wicked grin, and Foggy knew they’d be fast friends. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

Or maybe not. “What?” Foggy was immediately defensive. Matt lay a calming hand on his shoulder.

“It’s all right, Foggy.”

Ianto sighed. “Sorry. But we might as well be honest, here. I have a long history. I started at Torchwood One, in London, where latent abilities were forced to present. And then during the Battle of New York, I was exposed to something that further enhanced them.”

“What abilities?” Foggy asked. Torchwood _and_ SHIELD? Holy shit!

“Mostly empathic. Healing. Protection.” Ianto was unwilling to share more, at this point. “I don’t actively read people, but I can’t help picking things up.”

“Such as?” Matt asked.

“You _can_ see, though your sight is not optic,” Ianto answered simply. “I get the impression that you take in sensory data the way I take in empathic data.”

“How do you stand it?” Matt asked, his voice hushed.

“Same as you, I suspect. I’ve learned to block as much of it as can be blocked,” Ianto shrugged.

“Do you have a name?” Foggy asked. “Like Mind-dude, or Captain Empath?”

“Mind-dude.” Matt turned to Foggy with a deadpan expression. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I’m just the handler,” Ianto shook his head, laughing at the suggestions and deciding he didn’t much like the idea of a superhero name. That was one step too far.

“Okay, glad we cleared that up,” Foggy said, clapping his hands together and looking cheerful. “Where do we start?”

Ianto handed him a data key. “This is a secure portal to an even more secure server that houses everything we’ll need. You’ll receive a new password every twenty-four hours. I’ve organized the data by country for the offenses, and there’s a separate file for the defense, as well. We should probably start there, to give you the background you need.”

By the end of the day, they had reviewed the documents and footage related to how Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes had been destroyed and the Asset created. Foggy and Matt both looked far more sober.

“Sixty-three years,” Foggy whispered. He swiped at his eyes.

“It’s time to set him free,” Matt nodded. He turned to Ianto. “Thank you for entrusting this to us.”

“Understand, I will be at every meeting and hearing, and heavily involved in every step of this process,” Ianto warned. “You will likely not appreciate it.”

“No. The work you’ve already put into this? We’ll need your expertise,” Matt assured. “We welcome your participation.” And they did. The three did become good friends as they prepared the case together. There was only one question that they learned, early on, not to ask Ianto.

“Does anyone know where Sergeant Barnes currently is?” Foggy asked during their second working meeting.

“I’m fairly certain _he_ knows where he is,” Ianto answered with a small smile.

“Let me rephrase,” Foggy said.

Matt cut in. “Best not, Foggy.”

“What?”

“Well, if we’re asked, we can say that to our knowledge, no one knows…”

“… _exactly_ where,” Ianto cut in.

“Sergeant Barnes is,” Matt finished. He had a very strong feeling that Ianto knew where the man was – perhaps not down to his current address, but near enough. But the question would be put to Matt and Foggy, and they needed to be able to say ‘no’ without perjuring themselves.

“I have tried reaching out to him, to get him to come in from out of the cold, but I can only assume he is not ready, as yet.”

Ianto had explained Barnes’ state of healing, and his hope that once he had mended enough, he would be inclined to come home. Ianto also speculated that Barnes was not certain he would be safe, and that was one of the reasons they were working to clear his name.

“Shouldn’t the Army be helping with this?” Foggy asked.

“I believe a requisition has been filed,” Ianto shot his cuffs. “But I would prefer something be done this decade.”

***

It took the remainder of the year for all of the paperwork to be filed. Special requisitions were made to expedite the process, as these cases had not even been on anyone’s radar. Fifteen of the countries agreed immediately, grateful that they could close their open cases and give closure to any remaining families, assuring them that Hydra had already been brought to justice. Six more followed suit, following a bit of deliberation.

Pepper made Happy and one of the Stark jets available for the travel required to present the case in more depth to the six remaining countries. Convincing arguments were made, and one by one, the remaining waivers were secured.

As Ianto had promised Sergeant Barnes, by mid-March they were meeting with officials from the Department of Justice. They presented the case, along with twenty-seven waivers from the other countries allowing the United States to choose how (or whether) to pursue the cases. Then they submitted their applications, requesting both amnesty and pardon for Sergeant Barnes. For good measure, Ianto called in a few favors to expedite their application for pardon and get it in front of the President as soon as possible.

The vast majority of those they met with were sympathetic, even before being shown the footage of Barnes having the remnants of his arm amputated without benefit of anesthesia, along with many other clips selected for the brutality and single-mindedness with which Hydra had brainwashed Barnes. By the time all evidence had been presented, no one was willing to subject the war hero and prisoner of war to prosecution.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a few notes. The phone number is for the Orchestra Simfonica Bucuresti, or Bucharest Philharmonic. Might as well be consistent, right?
> 
> Like Ianto, I know nothing about the law. I Googled a couple of things and probably now know just enough to be dangerous (i.e., get it wrong). So hopefully you can forgive any glaring issues and just go with it, for the sake of the story. Hopefully it's at least clear enough what the intention was - to get all of the other countries to waive the right to prosecute, and leave it to the US, and then go for amnesty and pardon in the US. 
> 
> Foggy and Matt just kind of waltzed in and plonked themselves down. I'm not sorry, but I was pleasantly surprised. I also like the idea of Matt 'seeing' Ianto.
> 
> Oh, and I've never been a fan of the Accords, so I just rewrote them. Oops. :D
> 
> Lots going on - hope you enjoy this one! Let me know what you think! :)


	35. Chapter 35

Throughout that winter and spring, Ianto continued the process of coming to terms with the changes the Mind Stone had wrought. He was still very much himself, and it was quite easy for his friends to forget about the stone or its influence. The changes were subtle. He now slept more for enjoyment than necessity. He rarely needed more than five hours per night, unless his training proved particularly rigorous.

His nightmares could wake everyone on the floor, if he didn’t solidify his defenses, before sleeping. If he became completely absorbed in a task, he might be more prone to projecting his feelings. And though he had a long fuse, his temper could be impressive, once ignited, and it was then that his control could more easily slip.

Some of these things were not new. The stone merely amplified them. But some were completely alien, and Ianto kept returning to Ultron’s words, that he was no longer human. Matt Murdock had also shared how he saw Ianto, and his words rang in Ianto’s head, as well. _Something other._ His training with the Ancient One provided him with insight, but acceptance came more slowly.

As always, perspective helped. Ianto remembered all too well how it felt, to be stabbed by Loki’s scepter. It was not something anyone had dwelled on, since he’d healed so quickly and completely. But he remembered in the most jarring, intimate detail the sickening feeling of the blade plunging into his chest. The sensation of ribs breaking and a lung collapsing. The jarring jolt of the point of the blade lodging on the underside of his collarbone. The metallic taste of blood.

Ianto well knew that the stone had saved him from a grisly death, that day. And he was glad it had. He was grateful that he had been fully healed from the physical trauma. The rehabilitation alone would have put him out of commission, and though he wasn’t one to pat himself on the back, he could acknowledge that had he been absent, the death toll at Novi Grad would have been higher.

As spectacularly terrible as the disaster had been, what was most shocking was that the resulting deaths had been fewer than one hundred. Still too many, and no one was congratulating themselves, but the rapid and organized responses – by SHIELD, the Avengers and the Stark Relief Foundation – had saved many lives, that day.

Ianto could not regret his new abilities. After all, in shedding his despair after Lisa’s (final) death, he had found meaning and purpose in his life by protecting people. The scope varied, depending upon the threat, but even before touching the stone he had seen himself as a guardian, more than anything else. The ability to not only protect people from harm, but to heal them if they could not be protected, was a true gift.

In the end, Ianto decided that he could live with the side-effects, if it helped him live his purpose more fully. The Ancient One lived up to her promise, helping Ianto to learn how to protect himself, even as he protected others.

Much like the tree, the form his protection took came more from Ianto’s essence than his imagination. Neither was an image he consciously conjured; rather, both manifested from who and what Ianto was, at his most fundamental level. Months would pass before anyone besides the Ancient One or Wong saw his personal avatar, and then only under the most painful of circumstances.

***

What surprised Ianto most about that winter and spring was that despite being so busy with everything, he still managed to have time to spare. The Ancient One concluded their latest round of training by early March, and not long after she and Wong left the country, Natasha began her latest campaign.

“Natasha,” he groaned. “I am not interested in a relationship, right now. Please don’t try to set me up.”

She rolled her eyes. “You and Steve. I don’t understand why you two don’t want to play the field, a little bit.”

“Nat,” Clint chided.

“I’m not normal,” Ianto huffed.

“All the more reason to just have a bit of fun,” Natasha smiled. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“And what if it hurts more,” Ianto said, looking away, “if it doesn’t mean _anything_?”

Natasha had backed off then, much to Ianto’s relief. Which was ironic, because the next day it was a training accident that had Ianto carrying Natasha to the clinic on the tenth floor. The state-of-the-art medical facility was the pride of the Avengers Tower (depending on the day, of course. Other parts of the building, from the R&D floors to the day-care center to Myfanwy’s floor, got top billing in turn, depending on Tony’s mood.)

Natasha had been cut, along her thigh. Nothing terrible, but long and deep enough that some prompt attention was required. Ianto sat with her as the Nurse Practitioner joined them.

“Good morning,” she said. “My name is Virginia Radcliffe. I shall be your Chief Inquisitor today. You can call me Gin, as you scream in agony.” She was quite lovely, Ianto noted as he and Natasha laughed, and he studiously ignored the pointed look Natasha sent him as they returned her greeting. Dark brunette hair cut in a pixie style that highlighted her lovely bone structure, and she had eyes the color of dark chocolate and skin as pale as his own.

She was _quite_ lovely.

And also, quite capable. No surprise, really. Pepper didn’t hire anyone who was anything less than outstanding. She quickly cleaned and closed Natasha’s wound.

“There you are, Ms. Romanoff,” she said, her voice both warm and professional. “All sorted. Try to stay off it for at least three days, and it should mend with very little scarring.” She finished with the bandage and straightened, looking Natasha in the eye. “But any undue strain before those three days are up may pull the wound open, and I’ll be forced to use stitches, instead.” A humorous glint came into her eye as she added, “So mess up my work, and I’ll use the fattest needle I can find.”

Natasha grumbled good naturedly as Gin and Ianto left the room so she could change into a pair of scrub bottoms. In the hallway, they struck up a conversation that ended with the saucy brunette inviting Ianto for coffee at the weekend. He was so surprised that he said yes before he remembered how much he loathed Starbuck’s, where she proposed they meet.

A firm believer in beginning as one means to go on, he met her at the appointed time, but then took her to a small coffee house tucked into an out of the way spot in SoHo. He found they got on well, and he liked her quite a lot. He didn’t feel that spark he had felt with Jack, but then again, he hadn’t had that with Lisa, either. It was more interesting than disappointing, and it certainly wasn’t enough to deter him from getting to know her better.

They met a second time, and a third. He found her easy to talk to, and in the spirit of fairness, he explained to her that he was still coming to terms with some major changes that had happened, and he was not looking to rush into a physically intimate relationship.

Her response was one of relief. She had a young son who was seven years old, and she wanted to take things slowly, as well. With the pressure off, they simply decided to have fun and see where things led.

He was out of town for a week in the middle of March, and when he returned he was quiet and thoughtful. He had not told anyone on the team about his project (some would say crusade – Foggy had) to exonerate Sergeant Barnes, and now that he had carried it as far as it could go and it was in someone else’s hands, he felt the pressure more than he had during all of the months of hard work.

He was grateful he could talk to Gin about it – in very general terms – as she cooked him a very fine meal and distracted him with amusing stories. Her boy, Ethan, could get into the most hilarious mischief. Ianto couldn’t even remember being that young or bold, and the stories were always so… refreshing.

On March 25th, a small ceremony was held where the Sokovia Accords were signed by the team (including its four newest members – the Maximoff twins, Colonel Rhodes, and Sam Wilson), as well as the committee that had been formed to attempt to rein in the unchecked activities that had made the destruction of Novi Grad possible.

Much of Tony’s blustering resistance to the Accords had been tempered by the realization that as the team’s handler and SHIELD’s liaison with the team, Ianto had initially been held responsible for allowing the creation of Ultron. This could easily have led to his removal from the team; however, Ianto had won the committee members over during the course of the investigation and negotiations, and thanks to him, they were now quite comfortable with the controls that had been put in place.

After the signing of the Accords, there was a small reception. Ianto was happy to finally meet King T’Chaka of Wakanda in person. They had both enjoyed corresponding with one another on this project, and the King could only hope they could continue their dialogue. He found the younger man to be kind, articulate, and extremely droll. Having heard so much about the Avengers’ handler, his son, Prince T’Challa, enjoyed meeting Ianto, as well.

Ianto had invited Gin to the event, and introduced her to his friends. She and Steve seemed to hit it off particularly well, and Ianto left them to a conversation as he was pulled away by Pepper, who wanted him to meet some dignitary or other. And then the mayor of Novi Grad took him aside, delighted that Ianto had begun to learn his language.

The event was a tremendous success, and met with a great deal of popular approval, as well. People felt that their concerns had been acknowledged and addressed, and their heroes could be their heroes once more, rather than loose cannons. The final step would be for the Accords to be officially accepted by the United Nations, in May.

***

When Coney Island opened in mid-April, Ianto, Gin, and Ethan decided to make a day of it. They invited Steve to join for them, making a fourth, for the rides. Ianto was impressed at how effortless Steve’s interactions with Ethan were. He supposed it was to do with how a seven year-old didn’t care about Captain America, outside of his action figure that he played with, occasionally. He just saw his mom’s friend, Steve.

Something else Ianto couldn’t fail to notice was that the spark with Gin that he had hoped would arrive finally did. It was powerful and unmistakable.

And it was with Steve, rather than Ianto.

He had seen it at the reception, but had been too busy to take proper note of it. And as they walked around Coney Island, he saw a bit more of it, though Steve and Gin were both doing everything in their power to ignore it.

They all went back to Gin’s for dinner, and Ethan asked Ianto for a bedtime story. Once the boy was asleep, Ianto returned to the kitchen, where Steve and Gin had been doing the dishes. The tension between the two almost knocked him over when he entered the room and he sighed, moving to her coffee maker and admitting defeat.

Funnily enough, it wasn’t even defeat. He saw that he had been the one to friend-zone Gin, early on. He was only now realizing it. And he could also see that while he knew he would have been happy with Lisa, having never really experienced that intense spark of physical compatibility, now that he had experienced it ( _damn you, Jack Harkness_ ), he was no longer willing to settle for something without it.

Once their coffees had brewed, he fixed them to everyone’s preference and gestured for them to sit. Not one to beat around the bush, he dove right in.

“You both need to put away that sword you’ve decided to fall on.”

Gin looked at him, wide-eyed, and Steve swore under his breath.

Ianto took a sip of his coffee, then put it down and took Gin’s hand. “Gin, you have become a dear friend, and I hope you’ll stay so. But I think it’s time for us to face the fact that we’re better as friends than as lovers.”

She was still staring at him, her eyes wide and filling with tears. “Oh, God, Ianto. I am so sorry!”

“Why?” he gave her a gentle smile. “It’s no one’s fault that we didn’t spark.” He squeezed her hand. “I believe that either a couple has a spark, or they don’t. We don’t. It’s probably why we never got around to sleeping together.” He felt Steve shift in his chair next to him, but ignored his friend’s discomfort, for the moment.

Ianto kissed her hand and felt his sorrow and loneliness for a moment, holding it close so he didn’t share it with these two precious friends. “It was selfish of me to pursue this, but I hope you know that I am glad we got to know each other. I hope we can still be friends.”

“Of course,” she gave him a watery smile.

Ianto kissed her hand again before letting it go and taking another sip of his cooling coffee. He turned to Steve, now.

“And you,” he said.

Steve looked at him guiltily.

“Stop that, this instant,” Ianto chided. “You were about to walk away from something that could be truly special. I can’t let you do that. Especially not if I’m the excuse.”

“Ianto,” Steve began.

“No, you need to listen, Steve. Like I said. Either a couple sparks, or they don’t. It really is as simple as that. Gin and I don’t, but clearly, the two of you do. I hope with me out of the way, you’ll see where this takes you.”

“Ianto, I can’t just…”

“Can’t just what? Court someone who you are clearly attracted to? Besides, I have it on excellent authority that she’s free,” he added, winking at Gin, who chuckled.

“How can you joke about this?” Steve asked.

“Would you rather I be angry?” Ianto frowned. “Look. Lisa and I had no spark. But we were happy. We could have been content. And I never would have known the difference. But it wasn’t meant to be. And then along came Jack, and there was... _definitely_ a spark. And now I know the difference. I don’t want to settle for something without that… passion, and vitality. And it wouldn’t be fair to expect Gin to, either.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Steve began, but Ianto placed a hand on his forearm.

“I know. But you didn’t do it on purpose, and really there’s no harm done. Gin and I were taking it slowly enough, maybe waiting for something to happen, but I think it’s clear that there’s only friendship between us.” He looked at Gin, who gave him a small, sad smile and nodded.

“I just feel like,” Steve still looked unhappy.

“Steve, neither of you has done anything wrong. And it would be wrong of _me_ to not release her – release both of you, when I know you fancy one another.”

“And you wouldn’t mind, if…”

“What I would mind is if you stayed away from one another, because of me. Particularly now that I’ve gone to the trouble of breaking up with her.”

Gin chuckled again, and even Steve gave a small smile.

A car horn sounded outside, and Ianto stood from the table. “That’s my ride,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the key to the Stark fleet car that he and Steve had arrived in. He handed the key to Steve, who pulled him into a bear hug.

“I still feel like I should apologize,” Steve said.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Steve. I’m fine. Promise.”

Gin walked Ianto to the door, then wrapped him up in a warm embrace. “You’re a good man, Ianto Jones.” She gave him a kiss, and they both chuckled now at the distinct lack of heat.

“Be good to each other,” he said, stepping back and looking at both of them. “All I ask.”

***

Ianto texted Natasha from the cab, and by the time he got back to his apartment she and Clint were there with pints of ice cream and bottles of whisky.

“I’m fine, really,” he asserted, even as Clint pressed a tumbler with four fingers of whisky into his hand.

“We know,” Natasha replied. “You two were just sort of… grey.”

“Didn’t even notice it until we saw her talking to Steve at the reception,” Clint said, downing his own glass. “In _technicolor_.”

“It’s okay to be disappointed,” Natasha said, giving Clint a sharp look.

“I’m not upset about Steve and Gin,” Ianto insisted. “You’re right. Gin and I just weren’t right for each other.”

“I’m not talking about Gin,” Natasha said, draining her glass and holding out both hers and Ianto’s for Clint to refill. “I’m talking about just having someone, to be with.”

“There is that,” Ianto sighed, emptying his glass.

A while later, as Clint began to get a bit sloppy, he asked, “Did you sleep with her? B’cause _that_ could get a little… awkward.”

Ianto shook his head. “We were taking our time. Probably because we weren’t really all that attracted to one another.”

“Shit, man. How long has it been since you got laid?”

Ianto groaned. “Why is everyone so obsessed with my bloody sex life?”

“Idle curiosity,” Clint answered.

Ianto blew out a breath and looked at the ceiling. “Okay, fine. Two years, two months, and almost three weeks?” He looked at Clint and Natasha, who were staring at him, and shrugged. “Give or take.”

He drank more to cover his embarrassment. “Shut up,” he muttered.

“No!” Natasha exclaimed after quickly regrouping. “We were just surprised, is all.”

“So there hasn’t been _anyone_ since Captain Fantastic?” Clint slurred.

“You need to either change the subject, or leave,” Ianto said, slamming his glass down on the table and rising from his seat. Surely the ice cream had melted enough by now to not give him a headache. He headed to the kitchen and opened the chocolate/marshmallow/caramel swirl and dumped it into a bowl, which he then stuck in the microwave until it was almost completely liquefied.

When he returned to the living room, Natasha and Clint were holding a hissed conversation that ended abruptly when he re-entered the room.

“What?”

“We’re sorry we pried,” Natasha said.

“I just don’t understand the preoccupation with my sex life,” he muttered, sitting down and drinking a spoonful of melted ice cream.

“We just…” she shrugged. “We know you’re lonely. And you’re too young to not be having some fun.”

“Look,” Ianto downed another tumbler of drink. “There was a time when I had a helluva lot of fun, but almost no connection. And it _hurt_. I wouldn’t go back to that, no matter how much fun that fun was.” He sniffed. “Now, I have a lot more connection – a lot of really good friends, but maybe not as much fun.” He spooned more ice cream soup into his mouth and shrugged. “This is better.”

They seemed to accept that. At least, they dropped the subject, and the three friends spent the remainder of the night drinking a shedload of alcohol.

When they woke the next morning, Clint and Natasha found a bottle of water and two magic tablets placed beside each of them. Once they had downed them, they found Ianto in the kitchen, cooking a huge fry-up and looking a bit better for having allowed himself mourn.

They ate, showered, and then shared a sofa, doing something none of them would ever admit to (cuddling) and watching movies for the rest of the day.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I've no idea where some of this comes from. Hope you like Gin. Isn't she perfect for Steve? And if a fizzling relationship served to highlight Ianto's loneliness, well... 
> 
> Arguably, that was quite mean of me, but it's not like Steve was ever going to need a Nurse Practitioner, and _someone_ needed to introduce them.
> 
> And better things await our Handler. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! :)


	36. Chapter 36

News of the breakup travelled fairly quickly, but it was just as quickly ruled a no-fly zone. It hadn’t lasted long, but it wasn’t something to tease about, either. Everyone could see it was just one of those things that didn’t work out, and Steve ended up waiting more than a month before asking Gin out, not out of any concern regarding the rumor mill, but due to other things that had arisen.

Ianto was fine, really. He even continued to text with Gin, and they quickly settled into the nice friendship that they were meant to enjoy. What hurt was that Steve started avoiding him, directly after the breakup. Perhaps out of embarrassment, more likely out of guilt. Steve knew Ianto’s loneliness as well as he knew his own. Thankfully, he also realized that an empty relationship would have only made the loneliness worse, so he was slowly beginning to come around, even before Natasha threatened to cut him.

The Thursday after the breakup, Ianto was in one of the R&D labs in the sub-levels, looking for Bruce in order to get a signature on a report. A perky lab assistant had helped him, but sent him in the wrong direction. He found himself in one of the cold storage bunkers, but Bruce wasn’t there. It was supposed to be empty, but…

The place was eerie, and Ianto felt a prickle of uneasiness that he couldn’t place. Something kept him from calling out, and he began edging through the dimly lit room. It was far underground, and had the same feeling as the Torchwood Three vaults, though not as damp.

No, this place was cold and sterile.

Almost metallic.

An air compressor kicked in, causing some thick plastic sheeting that separated one room from another to ripple. Ianto warily approached it as Bruce entered the room.

“Hey, man. Were you looking for me?”

Ianto held up a hand and approached the plastic sheeting, terrible memories assaulting him. He tried to lock them down, but he felt his control to be tenuous, at best. As he reached out to the plastic, he was reminded of another room swathed in plastic, filled with conversion tables. He drew back his hand and pushed the memories away as he turned to Bruce.

“What’s in there?”

Bruce frowned. Their unflappable handler looked well and truly spooked. “Just some old tech that Tony says he wants to tinker with, someday. I’ve never really looked.”

“Can you go call for the others?” Ianto swallowed hard and turned back to the plastic. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

“Yeah. Maybe wait a few, before you go in there, if it’s worrying you?”

Ianto nodded. He stood staring at the plastic, old memories making him jumpier, the longer he stood there.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked as he entered the room a few minutes later, with Clint and Natasha following close behind.

“Maybe nothing,” Ianto answered.

“Or…”

Ianto shook his head. “Something doesn’t feel right,” he repeated.

“Well, let’s go take a look,” Steve stepped forward and pulled back the plastic, entering the next room.

Ianto followed. He barely got through the door when he saw it. He backed up quickly, hitting the wall behind him with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

“Ianto?” Steve turned back to see Ianto had gone pale, his eyes wide and terrified.

“No,” he whispered.

Standing against the opposite wall was a Cyberman.

In the next moment, the Avengers Tower became Torchwood Tower, a nightmare of twisted metal and out of control fires. Someone hit the fire alarm and the building was evacuated before the projected flashback began, in earnest.

“EXTERMINATE!”

“DELETE!”

The metallic cries of the enemies tore through the air as the aliens rampaged. But they were ghosts. After-images. Nightmares. Fires that did not burn raged throughout the building. Soon the screams from the conversion units joined the cacophony.

It was terrifying, even for those who had figured out what was going on.

The only ones to stay behind besides the team were Pepper and Happy, as well as those in the medical facility. Vision rushed to the basement level, only to find Ianto struggling against Steve. In the next moment, he threw Steve away from him, a tree branch keeping Steve from falling even as it pushed him from the room.

Ianto wrapped up the room and then himself, then pulled some of the electrical wires from the conduit running across the ceiling, and grabbed a spark, which he then hurled at the Cyberman, along with literally everything else he had. The bunker lived up to its name as, in the next moment, a massive flash of bluish sliver light exploded from the room. Despite Ianto’s shielding, it shook the whole building.

Vision entered the room and picked up the half-conscious Welshman, carrying him to an office on the next level. The others followed.

“What the hell is going on?” Tony skidded into the room.

Clint ran in, having checked out the bunker. “He obliterated the thing,” he reported, dropping down beside his friend.

Steve rounded on Tony. “You had a Cyberman in the basement!” he snarled.

“Yeah, but I made sure it was dead. I wanted to check out the tech, at some point. Just never got around to it.”

The room started to sway around them, and suddenly they were in one of the upper floors of the Torchwood Tower at Canary Wharf. Ianto was locked into a conversion unit, watching in silent terror as the blades spun above him. In the next moment, a Dalek entered the room.

“Your conversions will not add enough to your numbers to make a difference. You will fall before us, as all inferior lifeforms must. EXTERMINATE!” It turned to Ianto and just as a bolt shot from its weapon, a Cyberman clasped the shell of the Dalek.

“Delete!” it cried as it sent wave after wave of electricity through the Dalek.

The Dalek’s shot went wild, hitting the arm of the conversion unit. The implements came crashing down, one blade slicing along Ianto’s side, and another sinking into his upper arm. He screamed in pain but quickly realized that the conversion process had ceased, and the Cyberman and Dalek had destroyed one another. He managed to grab another implement from the arm, cutting his hand as he wrenched it free.

He tossed the tool to his uninjured side and used it to toggle open the restraint holding that arm. He then pulled the blade from his injured arm before freeing himself from the table. It was clear that he was terrified (and terrorized), and yet he was calm and level-headed as he freed whoever he could as he searched for Lisa.

Her metal casing burned him as he hauled her from the smoldering conversion room, where she had not fared as well as he had.

The room went wibbly again and now Ianto was kneeling before an enraged Jack Harkness, who was spitting, “You hid a Cyberman within Torchwood, and you didn’t tell us?” The scene shifted again, and now Jack was facing Ianto.

“You execute her, or I’ll execute you both!”

Next they saw the horror of what the Cyberman had done, to both Lisa and the young woman unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“You fought so hard for me. I had to hold on for you. So I took this body and transplanted the brain.”

The girl fell in a hail of bullets, and everyone was staggered by a crippling sense of sorrow, grief, guilt, and loss.

When the flashback faded, Ianto screamed and his entire body bowed as every major muscle group contracted.

“He’s having a seizure,” Bruce cried out. He swiftly removed Ianto’s tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt before turning him on his side. He managed to strip off Ianto’s suit coat and fold it under his head as the seizure transitioned to violent convulsions.

It seemed to last forever, but once the seizure subsided, Bruce eased Ianto into the recovery position. Natasha lay down facing him, holding his hand and crooning to him in Russian. As Bruce leaned back, Clint sat on the opposite side and ran a hand along Ianto’s arm.

Vision stepped forward. “I am sorry. He is very powerful. It was all I could do, to contain the flashback within the Tower. As it got more specific, I was able to contain it to the floor, and finally, to this room.”

“He sensed something,” Steve said, looking at Tony.

“I told you, it was dead,” Tony insisted.

“No,” Ianto spoke, his voice low and rough. “D-dormant. Not d-d-dead.”

Tony paled. “But…”

“Alien,” he rasped, and Pepper sent Happy for water. “Not easy to tell the difference.”

Wanda and Pietro came in. “No one outside of the Tower experienced anything,” she confirmed. “And those who evacuated do not know what they saw.”

“I used phone toy,” Pietro held up a gadget. “The evacuated will have no record of what happened.”

Happy returned with water, and Steve and Clint gently helped Ianto to sit up. His hands were shaking too much to hold the water, so Steve helped him drink. Exhausted, Ianto collapsed against Steve’s chest.

“Well,” Ianto deadpanned. “That was new.”

“How did a flashback cause a seizure?” Sam asked.

“It didn’t,” Vision answered. “Seeing the Cyberman triggered the flashback. And despite reliving a horrific experience, Ianto managed to destroy the alien. _That’s_ what caused the seizure.”

“Not much left of that bunker,” Clint said.

“What did he do?” Tony asked, more curious than annoyed.

“Took hold of a live wire and used the spark to…” Clint trailed off, shaking his head. He loved Ianto like a brother, but _Jesus_. Sometimes the kid scared the shit out of him.

Pietro sped to the bunker and back. His eyes were wide. “ _Nothing_ is left. Not even ash!”

“Yes,” Vision nodded. “He completely incinerated the Cyberman, while simultaneously shielding the rest of the building from harm.”

“I’m sorry,” Pepper cut in, “but how did that cause a seizure?”

“Ianto used almost the entirety of his reserves to destroy it,” Vision explained. “He’s more depleted now than he was, after Novi Grad.”

“That’s a lot of power,” Steve looked at Ianto. “Overkill, much?”

“You try reliving two of your worst days all at once, and see how you react,” Ianto muttered darkly. His breathing was labored, and he looked dreadful.

“One of the things I wanted to test,” Tony said. “The metal they’re made of. It’s almost indestructible.”

“Jack made me do the cleanup, after L-Lisa,” Ianto said, his voice quiet. “The conversion unit, the tech, the supplies…” he sniffed, “and Lisa. I had to put her in the furnace.” His voice wavered at the memory.

Tony swallowed, but needed to ask. “But fire wouldn’t…”

“Torchwood Three’s furnace,” Ianto clarified. “Alien tech. Safe burn at 2,000° Celsius. Took a while, but it did the job. Felt like days. The fire scorched me.” He sniffed. “Peeled three times.”

“Let’s get you up to medical,” Steve said, helping Ianto to his feet.

Ianto made it a few steps before his legs gave way. He fainted altogether as Steve picked him up and carried him. The elevator ride was tense, but thankfully short. When Steve took Ianto into one of the recovery rooms and lay him on the bed, Gin came in.

“What’s going on?” she asked, frantic. “Those aliens from a few years ago were everywhere, but it was like they were a hologram.” She finally looked to the bed. “Ianto! What’s happened?”

Ianto had confided in Gin about the Mind Stone and some of his psychic abilities, so Steve quickly explained about the projected flashback. He then told her that Ianto had destroyed the remains of the Cyberman in the basement that had triggered the flashback. “But he was so panicked he threw everything he had at it – well past what he had in him, it seems. He had a grand mal seizure, after. We gave him some water and brought him right up.”

“Generalized tonic-clonic,” Gin muttered as she entered notes into her handheld device. “How long did it last?”

“Tonic was about twenty seconds,” Bruce answered. “Clonic was almost three minutes.”

“That long?” she looked up, her eyes wide.

Bruce nodded.

“And how long, to come around?”

“Maybe five minutes.”

“Confusion?”

“No, he was fairly coherent, explaining what had happened.”

“When did he lose consciousness?”

“When we got him on his feet, to bring him up here,” Steve answered.

She shook her head. “That would explain it. His fatigue was likely too great.” She looked around. “Did he complain of a headache?”

“Ianto doesn’t complain,” Bruce groused. “And I didn’t think to ask.” He looked sheepish. “Sorry.”

“No worries. We’ll find out, when he comes around.” She began running scans, unwilling to do anything more, before he woke. They had put him back in the recovery position when Steve lay him on the bed, so once she checked to be sure his breathing was unobstructed, she covered him with a blanket and asked the others to wait outside, as the room had become quite crowded.

Tony, Pepper, and Steve insisted on staying. Natasha and Clint merely refused to go. They could tell when Ianto was coming back around because the room shifted into another projected memory.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea where this one came from, but can't you just see Tony hanging onto a Cyberman, to tinker with? And then forgetting he had it...
> 
> So... another _experience_ for our Handler. Next up is the aftermath, and result. After that Foggy and Matt show up. Only a few weeks out from the UN Summit, in Vienna, and we all know what happens there...
> 
> Let me know what you think! :)


	37. Chapter 37

The room shifted to a small flat in London. Ianto was sitting on a sofa, slouched so his head was leaned onto the back, a tumbler of whisky balanced on his forehead. Lisa entered the room, wearing a white silk shift nightgown with spaghetti straps and of a length to hit her in the middle of her long, toned thighs. Over the shift she wore a robe, also white to contrast with her beautiful skin, with flowered lace eyelets. She had not pulled the robe up over her shoulders, and she was a vision as she sauntered towards Ianto.

“You know, as entertaining as watching telly with Soren can be, I was rather hoping that when you finally got here, you’d join me,” she teased.

Ianto groaned. “’m sorry, Leese,” he sighed as she plucked the tumbler from his head. He opened his eyes and they immediately filled with a heat no one have ever seen in the handler.

“Tough day?” she asked, her voice soft and sympathetic. She drank the last of the whisky and climbed onto Ianto, straddling his legs and perching on his knees, well away from him, for now.

Ianto placed his hands on her thighs and adjusted his head so he was looking at her, his eyes shining. “I’ll take any day Yvonne throws at me, if I get to come home to this,” he said. Then his eyes widened at the implication of his words.

Lisa giggled. “Tell you what. I’ll wait for that sort of declaration to be accompanied by a ring before holding you to it.”

“We should run away,” Ianto blurted.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Lisa chided. “We both love our jobs.”

Ianto shook his head. “These ghost shifts scare me, Lisa. And that sphere,” he shuddered. He sat up, kissing her desperately. “Let’s run.”

Lisa pulled away. “I don’t like the sphere any better than you do, love. But if we try to leave, she’ll hunt us down.”

“Maybe not,” he tried again. “Maybe the ghost shifts will be enough of a distraction.”

“Ianto,” she leaned away from him, now. “Things are just starting to get _interesting_! I can’t believe you want to just cut and run, _now_ , of all times.” Ianto slumped back onto the sofa, and she gave him a soft smile. “Hey,” she took his hand and began massaging it.

Ianto sighed and began to relax. He always carried a lot of tension in his hands, and this seemed to be Lisa’s secret weapon, when she wanted to calm and soothe him. One of them, anyway.

“I love you,” he said, staring up at her. “Even if you are cruel and mean and don’t want to run away with me.”

Lisa giggled again. “Ask me again after we find out what’s in that sphere.”

Ianto shuddered again. “That sphere is best left intact. Better yet, it’s best sent back to wherever the hell it came from.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not curious.”

“Not in the least,” Ianto shook his head. “It…” he hesitated, but he knew she wouldn’t mock him. “It _screams_.”

Lisa shuddered at the fear and dread rolling off of Ianto at the mere thought of the sphere. “Stop,” she said. “You’re giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

Ianto ran a hand over his face. He wanted more whisky.

“Why was today so bad that you want to run away?” she asked.

“Fergus Kinkaid invited me to lunch,” he answered. “He has some… unsavory acquaintance he wanted me to meet.”

Lisa’s eyebrows shot up. “And?”

Ianto snorted. “Told him to go fuck himself.”

“Ianto!” she chuckled. “Burning bridges?”

“Wasn’t a bridge there, to begin with,” he shrugged. Then he sat back, staring at nothing. “And then Yvonne asked me to read the sphere.”

“After what happened, with the ghosts?” Lisa’s voice was now indignant. “Did it give you another nosebleed?”

Ianto nodded. “She told me to keep going, though.”

“Bitch!” Lisa snarled. “What happened?”

Ianto shook his head. “I heard screaming. High-pitched, metallic. Couldn’t make out what was being screamed, just the same word, over and over. It…” he shook his head again. “I passed out before I could latch on enough to make out the word.”

“Ianto,” Lisa was looking at him, horrified.

“Don’t fuss,” he said tiredly. “I’m fine. Just a headache.”

She took his other hand and massaged it, looking thoughtful. “Maybe,” she hesitated, and he opened his eyes to look at her. “Maybe during the first shift, on Friday. That’s always the most crowded. We’d have tomorrow and Thursday to plan.”

“Why the change of heart?” he asked.

“She uses you, and doesn’t care when you get hurt,” Lisa answered.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ianto shrugged.

“Yes, it does,” she caught his face between her hands, looking at him intensely. “Ianto, I don’t know what I’d do, if anything happened to you.” She leaned down and kissed him. “I love you, you idiot.”

Ianto wrapped one arm around her hips and grasped the back of her head with the other hand, pulling her in and kissing her with abandon.

“Only time she ever said it,” Ianto said quietly as the memory faded from view.

He hadn’t moved from where they had arranged him on the bed. Only his eyes had opened, staring longingly at the spot where Lisa had been, tears silently streaming. “That was the night before…”

“Ianto,” Gin moved to sit on a rolling stool so she was at eye level with him.

“Gin,” Ianto looked at her, and she could see that his pupils were dilated and he looked a bit out of it as he tried to focus on her face. “We broke up.”

“You’re on the medical floor,” she clarified. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”

“Hurts,” he replied, more tears falling.

Gin had a feeling he was not just speaking of physical pain. “Where?”

“Everything hurts,” he closed his eyes.

She reached out and took his hand, but regretted it when he flinched. She quickly let go. “Ianto, I need to start an IV. Okay?”

He didn’t open his eyes, but he gave a small nod.

As she worked, she noticed that he shrank from every touch. “Am I hurting you?” she asked quietly.

“Everything hurts,” he repeated, this time almost a whisper.

“All done,” she said, standing. “I’ll be back with something for the pain. It’ll help you sleep.”

“Vision,” he whispered.

“I’ll send him in,” she replied.

When she returned with the two syringes, Vision was placing himself just outside the door. He gave her a kind look. “I will keep his nightmares from projecting outside of the room. He wanted them confined to himself, but wrapping him up in that way would be too uncomfortable for him, right now.”

She nodded and pushed into the room. “Ianto?” she asked. Only the slightest movement of his head told her he had heard her. “I’m going to give you an analgesic and muscle relaxer for the aches and pains caused by the seizure. And also a mild sedative, to help you sleep.”

He gave the barest nod before going still, again. She inserted one syringe into his IV line, then the other. Within minutes, the tension began draining from his body, and he relaxed into sleep. Clint and Natasha pulled up chairs, determined to weather any nightmares their friend might project.

She led Tony, Pepper, and Steve from the room and into one of the consultation rooms, down the hall. Once they were sat down, she asked, “What happened?”

“You heard Spangles,” Tony said. “Ianto saw the Cyberman in the basement and freaked.”

“Why?” she asked.

“He was at Canary Wharf, when Torchwood Tower fell,” Phil Coulson said, entering the room and sitting next to Steve.

“So the flashback was of the battle,” she nodded, once she’d absorbed the shock and heartbreak of that revelation. “That makes sense, based on what I saw.” She sighed. “Poor Ianto.”

“He never mentioned almost being converted,” Steve rubbed his forehead. At Phil’s look, he described the other flashbacks that had come before the seizure.

“Okay, so it was likely a combination of physical and emotional trauma that triggered the seizure,” Gin muttered, filing that away for her notes. “So Lisa,” she sighed. “He only ever said his girlfriend died, a few years ago.”

“He would have told you,” Steve said, wondering if she was upset that Ianto had not confided in her.

“I’m not worried about that,” she waved the thought away absently. “But the memory we saw as he woke was most likely his last good moment with her. And then you saw her last moments, and the battle…”

“What are you thinking?” Steve asked.

“I’m just concerned that this event might be particularly… impactful.”

“In what way?” Pepper asked.

“I think the reason he was struggling just now was because he was working so hard not to project his grief,” Gin said. “He only relaxed once Vision agreed to provide a shield. To protect us, not Ianto.” She shook her head. “And I think this has triggered his grief for Lisa. But not just as a reminder.”

“He just relived it all. So he’s reliving the grief, as well. As though it’s fresh.”

Gin nodded sadly.

“I swear,” Tony said, his voice low, “I swear I thought it was dead. I never would have…”

“We know, Tony,” Steve said. “And it’s actually a good thing this happened, in that we found out that it wasn’t dead before it could… activate, or whatever.”

“All it takes is one,” Phil said. “That’s what Ianto told us, when he reported about what happened with Lisa. It’s what makes the Cybermen so dangerous.”

“How’d you find out?” Tony asked.

“Colonel Rhodes figured that with Ianto out of commission, we might like to know about it,” Phil said. “How is he?”

“Typical post-seizure symptoms. As well as some PTSD symptoms. His body temp was strangely low,” Gin frowned at her handheld.

“Psychic shock?” Phil turned to Steve.

“If it is, he’s muddling through,” Steve shook his head. “Can’t seem to bear being touched, right now.”

“Well, at least we know not to leave him alone, this time,” Phil said.

***

When Ianto woke, he felt dreadful. Everything _hurt_. And he felt a strange sluggishness that pulled at him, asking him to dive back into himself and sleep everything away. He longed to do so, but he felt… exposed. The medical facility was nice enough, but the open plan was messing with his defenses, which were barely there, in the first place.

They had completely shattered, but seemed to have recovered, a bit. He looked over at Natasha and Clint, who were asleep in an armchair. Unlike most hospital furniture, the chair was massive and cushy. Clint was sitting properly in it, and Natasha was curled up in his lap, her head on his shoulder.

All Ianto knew was he didn’t feel safe. He pulled the IV from his arm and climbed out of the bed. The hospital gown at least had the ability to wrap around him so his arse wasn’t hanging out. He tied it closed and stepped from the room on shaky legs.

“Are you all right?” Vision asked.

“Thank you for shielding me,” Ianto said. He looked at Vision, hollow-eyed. “I’m going to go home, now,” he said.

“Shouldn’t you wait?” Vision frowned.

“I need a bit of time to myself, to mend my shields,” Ianto said wearily. “Surely you can sense that.”

“I sense you need solitude, to rebuild your defenses,” Vision nodded. “But I also sense that you should not be alone, right now.”

“I’m always alone,” Ianto muttered, turning away. “Nothing new, there.”

Vision let him leave, but knew they would need to check in on him.

***

“What do you mean, you just let him leave?” Clint was demanding of Vision when Steve stepped off the elevator.

“Where did he go?” Steve suddenly felt concerned. “How long ago did he leave?”

“It was just past midnight,” Vision answered. “He said he wanted to go home.”

Steve frowned. It was almost eight in the morning, now.

“You think he went back to Wales?” Clint asked.

Natasha looked at him.

Gin laughed. “He told me that Wales will always be in his heart, and where he is from. But home is here, with his family.”

“He said that?” Natasha asked, a small smile playing at her lips.

“So… his apartment,” Clint started walking towards the elevator.

“That would be my guess,” Gin said. “Tell him I don’t approve of him yanking out his IV and leaving in the middle of the night.”

They headed for the elevator.

“Friday, is Ianto in his apartment?” Steve asked.

“He is,” Friday replied. “He has asked not to be disturbed.”

“Is he all right?” Natasha asked.

“He seems to be sleeping,” Friday answered.

***

They checked in every few hours, receiving the same reply. However, early the next morning, Friday reached out to Steve.

“Captain Rogers, Agent Jones has not moved since entering his apartment yesterday.”

“What, not at all?” Steve frowned, heading for Ianto’s door. He rapped on Natasha’s on the way, unsurprised when she and Clint both came out.

“No.”

“Will you let us in?”

“The door is unlocked already,” Friday said, and Steve briefly wondered if that meant Friday had unlocked it, or that Ianto hadn’t locked it, in the first place.

They entered Ianto’s apartment and were surprised to find him curled up on the sofa, still in the hospital gown. Steve marveled at how a man his height could have made himself so small. Natasha was the first around the sofa, and she gasped.

Ianto was catatonic, staring vacantly at nothing. His face was gaunt, with dark circles under eyes red from not blinking. His skin was cold to the touch, and his breathing was shallow and rapid.

“Okay, so untreated psychic shock is a thing,” Clint muttered.

Steve stepped around Natasha and gently unfolded Ianto, picking him up. “Body heat and comfort, right?” He headed for Ianto’s bedroom.

Natasha ran ahead and turned down the duvet. Steve placed Ianto on the bed and Clint helped him gently remove the hospital gown. All three quickly stripped and bundled into the bed, surrounding Ianto and holding him close.

Within two hours, his eyes closed and he sighed, giving in to sleep. It took another twelve for him to warm up. Nightmares plagued him (and them, as he was still projecting) throughout the day, and into the night. They all began with good memories of Lisa – the kind that should comfort someone, in their grief. But they all ended with the pizza girl tainting memories with the Cyberman’s manipulations.

“We can be upgraded together.”

And then gunshots.

The three took it in turns to eat and return to bed. Ianto was too out of it to do much besides swallow the water they gave him, each time a nightmare woke him. He didn’t seem to be aware of much going on around him, but they knew he was more at ease in his own bed than he had been on the medical floor.

Around ten o’clock that night, he finally seemed to settle into a deep sleep, and slept through the night without being disturbed by nightmares. Despite having spent the day just lying next to him, the others were exhausted, and fell asleep, as well.

They were awakened the next morning by Ianto thrashing about in the throes of another nightmare. But this time, he was not projecting. Steve sat up, rubbing his eyes as Natasha and Clint stirred on Ianto’s other side.

“Hey, Ianto,” Steve turned to the younger man, reaching for him, but then fell away with a small cry of alarm as he saw that the blue tree was not the only protective avatar Ianto had created. The tree was there – Steve had always been able to perceive it, if his mind was calm and unfocused enough. Its branches swayed gently as Ianto breathed, and he knew that its trunk surrounded the building. But this…

Ianto had told them that the Ancient One had assisted him in developing a personal avatar, one to protect himself as he protected others. He had not spoken much of it, only hinting that it was an animal rather than a plant or another tree.

“What is it?” Natasha asked, reaching out to wake Ianto. “Wake up, bratishka.”

“It’s beautiful,” Steve muttered as Ianto opened his eyes, looking as though he had been wrung out.

“You can see it?” Ianto asked, uncertainty clear in his eyes.

“I’m glad you’ve mended your defenses. It’s amazing, Ianto.”

“Another tree?” Clint asked, rubbing his face and trying to waken.

“Not exactly,” Steve looked at Ianto for permission.

Ianto gave a shrug.

“It’s a dragon.”

***

Those besides Steve who could see the tree – Vision, Wanda, Pietro, and Pepper – had sensed an additional shield around Ianto through the spring, but they had not been able to discern its shape. But just as traumatic experiences seemed to shape (or even force) every other aspect of Ianto’s gifts, so too had this experience shaped his personal avatar.

“What do you mean by avatar?” Bruce asked, a few days later, once Ianto was back on his feet.

He was still weak and was not yet cleared for work, but he had come down for the company. They could tell he was not going to work (much) because rather than one of his impeccable suits, he was wearing an old pair of jeans, well-worn with holes in the knees and one of the thighs, and a threadbare Green Day concert t-shirt. What was most disconcerting was that he was barefoot, and hadn’t shaved in a few days.

Ianto’d had enough solitude. His shields were mended, arguably stronger than ever. He had always been able to see his avatar, since the day it had appeared. The Ancient One and Wong had both laughed. Ianto had frowned, asking them if Sergeant Barnes might have a touch of the sight, to have called him that.

“It is your fierce nature that he recognized,” the Ancient One nodded. “And that same fierceness has called forth this image, just as the gentleness in your nature has called forth the Tree of Life.” She closed her eyes, canting her head. “But yes, he does seem to possess some latent abilities.”

Ianto looked at Bruce. “In this circumstance, it’s sort of a manifestation of my shielding.”

“And this is different, from the tree thing?”

“Here,” Steve pulled out one of his larger sketch pads and turned to a page. On it was a blue and silver tree with branches woven into Celtic knots. He even showed a few of the branches lightly wrapped around different people.

“Steve, that’s beautiful!” Pepper exclaimed. “You’ve captured it so well,” she added, looking from the page to the room around them.

“The tree is outward protection,” Ianto smiled at the picture, pleased. “It’s the manifestation of my shielding for others. But one of the reasons Novi Grad was so difficult for me was because I didn’t protect myself, as well.”

“And you’ve learned how to do that, now?”

Ianto nodded. “The personal avatar manifested sometime in early February, I think. But it didn’t hold its shape the way the tree did, so effortlessly. And then, in the basement the other day…” he trailed off, and his head gave a twitch. “It was almost a physical presence, protecting me as I… kind of lost my bottle,” he ended sheepishly.

“Oh, come now. I object to any implication that you behaved cowardly,” Pepper protested. It always amused Ianto that she knew so much slang from his side of the ocean. “Did something truly terrifying scare the hell out of you? Yes. But you bravely faced it, and got rid of it.”

Ianto walked over to her and took her hand. Kissing her cheek, he said, “Thank you,” with a small smile.

“And it’s as visible as the tree now?” Sam asked.

The others nodded.

“Doesn’t it get kind of crowded in here?”

“For me, is only there if my mind goes blank for a few seconds,” Pietro said, and the others nodded. “It sort of fades when I am focused on other things. But then when I focus on seeing it, it gets stronger.”

Steve flipped to another page in his sketchbook and showed them the picture. It was of Ianto standing there, but surrounding him was the avatar, transparent and red. He flipped to the next picture, which showed just the avatar, in spectacular detail.

A red dragon. In the picture where it surrounded Ianto, it was as though it was standing behind him, wrapping its wings around him protectively. Here, it was merely sitting there, wings spread, without Ianto.

On its own, it sat majestically, with a wise, kindly face that looked… a bit amused, frankly. And wide wings flared out, the underside the shade of café au lait (extra heavy on the cream). The same color covered its chest, belly, and the underside of its tail. The rest of it was a warm red – not a primary red, but had more maroon undertones.

Its face was ancient. Patient. Intelligent. Peaceful. And fiercely protective. Ianto was impressed. Steve had captured so many aspects of the avatar that it was clear he had experienced its presence as much as seen it.

“And this is something Ianto has called on, for protection?” Bruce frowned.

“No,” Natasha was staring at the picture, wishing she could see the real thing. “It’s a manifestation of an aspect of Ianto.” She turned to Ianto and smiled. “In a sense, it is _actually_ Ianto.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this one. A bit longer than normal, but it was the natural stopping point. I think I've mentioned that Torchwood One set a precedent, formed a pattern such that now _every_ traumatic experience deepens some aspect of Ianto's abilities. So another Cyberman in the basement has solidified his personal defenses, represented by a dragon avatar.
> 
> I like the Ancient One's explanation for what Bucky has seen. He didn't see the avatar, but he recognized the fierce, protective aspect of Ianto as dragon-shaped. That pleases me. I hope everyone else likes it, too. :)
> 
> Let me know what you think! :)


	38. Chapter 38

They spent most of the day trying to keep Ianto on the couches, making sure he was taking it easy. Their one concession had been to allow him to brew a few pots of coffee, given he’d almost gagged on Clint’s attempt.

But once everyone had their fix, he snuck over to his workstation and managed to submit his report on the Cyberman incident to Phil before they realized he was _working_. Amidst his protests, he was hustled over to the couch and one or the other of the team practically sat on him, the rest of the day, though they did let him have a StarkPad so he could read and reply to his emails.

He was no longer shying from (or jumping at) every touch, so after lunch Natasha was curled up beside him, pretending to catch up on her own paperwork. Feeling warm and sleepy, Ianto was on the verge of nodding off when Pepper stepped off of the elevator with Matt and Foggy.

“Ianto?” Pepper called out, looking around as Foggy gaped and Matt stood frozen to the spot.

“What’s happened?” Ianto extricated himself from Natasha’s dozing form and walked slowly over to them. He frowned at Matt. “Everything okay?”

Matt swallowed. He’d been able to perceive the vague shape of Ianto’s dragon from the time he’d manifested it, but now… He dragged is eyes from it and got a better look at Ianto.

“Man, Pepper said you’d been under the weather,” Foggy said, also staring, but more so at Ianto’s person. “You look like you’ve been pulled through a keyhole backwards!”

“Thanks,” Ianto chuckled. “But I’m feeling better, now. Just a little tired, still.” He looked from one to the other. “What’s up?”

“We have good news, and… news we need to respond to,” Foggy answered.

“So?” Pepper asked.

“We got word on both applications this morning,” Matt answered, unsure whether this was the place to discuss it.

“And?” Pepper was practically bouncing. Ianto felt a bit nervous and flustered, himself.

“Both have been granted,” Matt said, smiling.

Pepper hurled herself into Ianto’s arms. Still weak, he staggered a bit, but Foggy steadied him and he spun her around, hugging and sharing her jubilant laugh.

“I hope this means that now you’re going to share with the rest of us why you’ve been spending as much time with a couple of lawyers from Hell’s Kitchen as you have with us,” Tony said, frowning. “And why Pepper’s in on this. I mean, no offense, but don’t I have a rather impressive legal team, already?”

Pepper looked at Ianto, who gave her a nod and a small smile. “We’ve been working on amnesty and a pardon for Sergeant Barnes,” she said. “And it’s just been granted!”

Steve’s head snapped to them. “You’ve what?”

Ianto walked over to Tony, who was standing stock-still, looking conflicted. “We should have told you what we were doing. I’m sorry, Tony.”

Tony snapped himself out of the stupor. “No. No, it’s good. He’s already served a life sentence – sixty-odd years of horror. He’d been punished enough.”

“Tony,” Pepper now ran into his arms, hugging him close.

Matt and Foggy looked a bit awkward. This wasn’t the first family member of a victim of Hydra’s Asset that they had met, but he was likely the most famous.

Ianto turned to Steve. “He won’t be prosecuted for any of the crimes Hydra forced him to commit,” he said.

Now Steve was hugging Ianto. When he stepped back, his face was full of emotion. “Maybe he’ll want to come home, now?”

“Maybe,” Ianto smiled. He turned back to Foggy and Matt. “And what is it we need to respond to?” he asked, remembering the second part of Foggy’s assertion when they first arrived.

“Someone leaked some of the footage to Eric Matheson – you know, that crusader-journalist?” Foggy said, grimacing. “Only the crimes were leaked, none of the defense. No idea how they got past the encryption. But they seem to be taking aim at the President for issuing a pardon against a known, brutal killer.”

“Bastards,” Pepper snarled. The others looked outraged, as well.

Ianto went very still, but his rage was a palpable presence in the room. He drew in a breath. “Right.” He turned his back, and Matt took a step back, hauling Foggy with him as the dragon’s wings flared out.

“Whoa,” Wanda’s eyes were huge, and Pietro stepped back, as well.

“Agent Jones,” Vision said, his voice meant to be calming. But he trailed off as he saw Ianto begin to channel his anger. The wings folded back in, and he gave himself a shake.

“Right,” Ianto turned back to Foggy, but did not speak to him. “Friday, find a direct line to Matheson, and dial it from Foggy’s phone.” Now he turned to Foggy, who looked startled. “Ready to give an interview?”

Foggy’s eyes went wide, but then he grinned and nodded. “Sure. What’s the plan?”

“Tell Matheson who you are, and tell him that in exchange for a half hour of air time, you’ll keep him from making the biggest blunder of his career. Let him know he doesn’t have the whole story. And that you’ll give him enough footage to tell it all, properly.”

Foggy’s eyes were wide. “You sure?”

“No choice, if they’ve already aired footage of any of the crimes.”

Friday spoke up. “Several news outlets have picked up the story. It’s spreading like wildfire.”

“Then we’ll set up a backburn. Foggy, meet with him right away, if you can. Matt, can you pick out which clips will play most effectively?”

“Got a place for me to plug in?” Matt held up his laptop case.

“Follow me,” Pepper placed his hand on her arm and led him to a terminal.

“Pepper, can you get us a call with the President?” Ianto asked.

“Before the day is out,” she promised and headed to the elevator.

“What are you going to do?” Matt asked Ianto as he got settled at the workstation.

“Find the bastard who did this,” Ianto muttered darkly. “They’ll be lucky to just serve jail time.” He stalked towards his workstation. “And the hacker. Oh, we’ll not forget the hacker. They’ll rue the day they touched Toshiko’s encryption.”

“How will you find them?” Tony asked, intrigued.

Ianto gave an evil grin, and it chilled those around him. “She had failsafes. Like touching UV paint. You don’t even realize it, until someone shows up with a black light.” He pulled up his computer, and then tunneled into his own server, where he kept his and Tosh’s toys. One of them was precisely the metaphorical black light he was speaking of. “And here I come.”

Within a quarter hour, Foggy was heading to the studio with Pepper, Happy, and an unencrypted jump drive filled with clips of Barnes being tortured and brainwashed by Hydra. The amputation, how they cruelly broke the news of Steve going into the ice, some of the torture, and a typical mission, from defrost to being put back into cryo. Just the highlights, but enough to give the full picture of why the President had pardoned Barnes.

Within a half hour, Ianto had ensured that the hacker was having a _very_ bad day. She was based in New York, so he asked Phil to send a team to detain her. In the meantime, he blew up (in some cases, quite literally) every piece of hardware and software she had touched in the last decade that was still tied to her work.

It only took an additional ten minutes to find the Department of Justice arsehole who had leaked the footage, once decrypted. Funnily enough, the hacker had attempted to hide his identity, so the guy thought he was safe. (Ianto once again sent a silent prayer of thanks to his dear Ume.)

The arsehole’s name was Jason Simpson, a minor aide who had jumped at a chance to do a bit of political sabotage. But now he would be brought up on federal charges, and would have the Army after him, as well, as the footage pertained to one of their own as a prisoner of war.

They didn’t take kindly to such things.

Ianto made sure they had all the evidence they needed, in order to prosecute. In the meantime, within the hour both Simpson and the hacker – one Skye Johnson – were in SHIELD custody.

“Who will treat him the worst?” Ianto asked the room at large.

“Army,” Clint answered.

“He just got transferred to them,” Ianto said, after a few keystrokes. He was still quite angry, but it was simmering beneath the surface, still. “Now, for Skye Johnson,” he texted Phil, saying he wanted first crack at interrogating her.

“Wait. Skye Johnson?” Matt frowned. “I know her.”

“Hope you’re not too attached,” Ianto sent her information to Matt’s laptop.

“Yeah, that’s her,” Matt shook his head. “We were at the same orphanage, growing up. She’s one of those who always considered herself a rebellious white hat. She’s a good person, Ianto.”

“I can tell,” Ianto snarked. “Because she only decrypted the prosecution files. Wasn’t even curious about the defense.”

“Maybe that’s just what he gave her?” Matt didn’t even sound like he was convincing himself.

“She’s smart enough not to have been caught, before now. You’re smart like that, and you take a job like this, you’re going to get all the background you can,” Ianto asserted. Everyone in the room wondered how he knew that. “But she didn’t even bother. Tells me she’d already made up her mind.”

“What will happen to her?” Matt asked.

“Knowing Phil, he’ll offer her a job,” Ianto shrugged, already resigned. Then he gave that scary, angry smile, again. “But not before I get hold of her.”

He strode from the room and everyone let out a breath. Clint looked at Natasha. “Please. Don’t ever let me piss him off. No offense, Bruce,” he turned to Banner, “but he’s scarier than you.”

“None taken,” Bruce replied, slowly turning back to his worktable. Truth be told, he felt sort of sunburnt, from Ianto’s anger. Only rather than pink, he imagined he saw a faint greenish tinge to his skin. Ianto wasn’t projecting, really, but you didn’t have to be an empath to feel the level of anger the younger man was experiencing. “Just be sure to feed him, when he gets home,” he joked.

The rest laughed, shaking off their surprise at Ianto’s anger. It was a well-known fact that Bruce was always ravenously hungry whenever he de-Hulked.

“He’s been working on this since he got access to Hydra’s files,” Matt said. They’d forgotten he was still there, but his presence was not unwelcome. “He wants Barnes to have the option to return home, if that’s what he wants. He couldn’t come home without amnesty. For about thirty seconds, all that hard work had come to fruition.”

“And now?” Sam asked.

“If public opinion is against Barnes, he’ll probably still not be able to come home. You know how angry mobs can be,” he shrugged. Honestly, Matt was frustrated, too. He’d been working on this for the better part of nine months. To have the rug pulled out from under them just as they’d cleared the final hurdle was a blow.

***

Phil had never seen Ianto so angry, before. It was interesting and terrifying, all at once. The younger man had showered and put on a suit before heading to SHIELD headquarters, but he had not stopped long enough to shave. He was still pale and haggard from the Cyberman incident, and he looked almost wild. Phil watched from behind the viewing glass as Ianto entered the interrogation room and set down a cup of coffee in front of Skye Johnson.

“I suppose you consider yourself some sort of crusader,” he spoke, his voice mild as he sipped his own coffee.

Skye looked at him speculatively, and Phil could immediately tell she had underestimated him. He’d left himself scruffy and unshaven, and she immediately dismissed him as inferior to all of the clean-cut agents she’d seen on the way in. She was going to try to bluff.

“I know more about this Barnes character than you do,” she sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, to the extent she could pull that off, still cuffed. “Do you mind?” she held up her cuffed arm.

“Not at all,” Ianto smirked and took another sip of coffee. He nodded to hers. “Go on, then. It isn’t spiked, or anything.”

She huffed and took the cup, but just circled it in her hands.

“And as the person who helped mount Barnes’ defense, I will contend that you know next to nothing about him, much less more than me.” He stared at her as her eyes widened. “Bad form, really. You had access to his defense information, and yet you didn’t even bother to look at it. Why is that, I wonder? Afraid you’d see something that didn’t fit with your narrow-minded little script?”

“I am _not_ narrow-minded,” she snarled. “Rising Tide is all about the democratization of information.”

“Ah, yes. Your little ‘hacktivist’ group,” Ianto sneered. “Interesting that it was so selective about _this_ information. Makes one wonder if you actually stand for democratization of information, or merely want to control its flow in a different way.”

“That’s not true!”

“Then why not get the whole story? It’ll have to come out, now,” he sighed. “Pity, really. Sergeant Barnes deserves to come home and live in peace. But thanks to you, that’s now going to be more difficult than ever.”

“S…Sergeant who?”

“The Hydra Asset. See,” he gave her a withering look, and she physically shrank from the contempt radiating from him, “he was a prisoner of war. Broken down, brainwashed, and remade into something incapable of refusing orders.”

“That… That’s not true,” Skye said again. The agent in front of her was partly right. She hadn’t thought there was any defense for the man in the videos she’d watched. And Miles had told her it was so. So she hadn’t bothered. Now she felt ignorant. It was the pettiest, most childish, most _amateur_ of mistakes. She’d fallen into the prideful trap of thinking she knew it all.

And of trusting Miles, apparently.

And worst of all, of not bothering to think for herself.

“Oh, but it is,” Ianto replied scornfully. “Shall we look at the files that, had you bothered to be a professional and review, might have changed how you just completely _fucked_ with the course of a man’s recovery of his life?”

Skye’s eyes grew large. The agent in front of her was not just contemptuous. He was _enraged_. For an agent to use that kind of language... She was fairly certain she’d never see daylight, again. And then, she wasn’t certain she deserved to, as the video screen to the left of where she was sitting – a huge, thirty-six inch screen – came alive.

She was forced to watch everything from the defense files. Raw, graphic footage of a man – a soldier – being tortured beyond endurance, both physically and mentally.

“It took them three years to completely break him,” Ianto said, pointing to the date-stamp on the clip where it was clear that the dead-eyed man on the screen was now the Asset, completely emptied of his humanity.

“I didn’t know,” Skye wept. There were no tissues in the room. After a moment’s hesitation, Ianto handed her his handkerchief, clearly not wanting to.

He showed her the rest of the footage. How every time the Asset began to remember anything, he was painfully wiped. How the Asset was treated like a dog, brought out of its cage and kicked into compliance, then kicked some more before being frozen again, once its mission had been completed.

Ianto had made sure to delete and destroy all footage of the other abuses heaped upon the Asset. Some of the more extreme measures taken, to break Barnes. The times he was taken out of cryo merely to be beaten. The experiments. The cock fights. The rapes.

But this. This thoughtless creature needed to see how she had added to Barnes’ abuse. But her tears of regret were only adding to his anger.

“Finally free, when Hydra fell,” Ianto said, finishing his coffee and leaning back in his chair. “After sixty-three years of imprisonment and unspeakable abuse.” He looked at her. “Don’t even think you’ve seen the worst of it. Merely what was enough to provide the legal defense.”

“I didn’t know,” she cried again. “I never would have given Simpson the decrypted files, if I’d seen how misleading they were, on their own.” When Ianto rolled his eyes, she slammed her hands on the table. “You have to believe me! I didn’t know!”

“Oh, I do believe you. I know exactly which files you decrypted. But here’s the thing,” Ianto turned angry eyes to her, and she flinched. “You very easily could have watched these, as well.”

She slumped back, crying messily. But then, something caught in her brain. “Wait. What do you mean, you know which files?”

Ianto smiled. Under any other circumstances, it would have been a calm, pleasant look. Here, in this room, surrounded by his suffocating (and righteous) anger, it was terrifying. “How do you think we found you?” he asked blandly, picking a bit of nonexistent lint from the arm of his suit.

She blinked. “ _You!_ You destroyed all of my stuff,” she growled.

“No, _you_ did that,” he parried. “The second you failed to do your own due diligence.”

She sat back, staring at him, realizing he wasn’t wrong.

“Help me understand,” he said, his voice still bland, but she could see a volcano about to erupt. “How is it you thought the Department of Justice would grant amnesty, and the President would issue a pardon, without a rather substantial and convincing amount of evidence?” he waved a hand towards the screen.

“I…” she really had no excuse. “I was brought in, by someone I _trusted_ ,” she spat the last word, and Ianto rather expected there’d be a breakup in her near future. “He said it was all good-old-boy political favors. Said to ignore the defense, it was all bogus. Just decrypt the prosecution’s files and get them back to the client.” She turned to him. “You’ve nabbed Simpson too, haven’t you?”

“The Army has him,” Ianto answered cheerfully. “And thanks for the tip on the go-between.”

She drew breath to protest, but her eyes were drawn back to the screen, where Barnes’ face was frozen, contorted in a scream of terror and pain as he was tortured. “His name is Miles Lydon.” She gave an address. “This,” she gestured to the screen, “isn’t me. Normally, I’d be the one releasing _this_ side of it, not the other.”

“Well, thanks to you and your Rising Bile movement, we’ll now have to further traumatize Sergeant Barnes and show this side, to try to calm people down.” He huffed. “We were trying to make it safe, so he could come home, if that’s what he decides he wants. Not that he has a home to come back to,” he glanced at Skye, who was beginning to cry, again. “His home is sixty-odd years ago. All of his family is gone, except for a nephew who lives out of state in a retirement home.

“His home is gone. His family is gone. He only truly remembered who he was, the day Hydra fell. But he also remembers the things he did, as the Asset. Wasn’t his fault,” Ianto waved a hand at the screen again. “But he still has to live with it. Steve Rogers is the only thing he has left.

“We were trying to make it so he could just come home,” Ianto repeated tiredly. “Try to find a life. Make a life. He left this country so he could fight for it. He must love it, right?” he looked at Skye, wondering what she thought.

She nodded. “He must.”

“I mean, I _love_ Wales,” he rambled on. “It’s part of me. But I like it here. Maybe he likes it wherever he is, right now. But I just…” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “There’s nothing we can do, to make it up to him, to make any of it right. But we can make it so he _can_ come home, if he wants to.” He idly hooked a finger around the handle of his coffee mug and tossed it.

Skye jumped when it smashed against the wall she was facing. She stared at the agent, who looked genuinely unwell. He was staring at the screen, and his pain at what he saw was palpable. She would have thought that, as someone who helped with Barnes’ defense, he would have become inured to it. But that clearly wasn’t the case. She reached out and pressed the button on the remote he had set on the table between them, turning off the screen.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know. And you’re right. I should have found out.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, pardon! Boo, bad press! It'll work out, though. Ianto has a plan. :)
> 
> Am I the only one the teensiest bit annoyed by Skye/Daisy? I fell behind, watching Agents of SHIELD, so I don't know how the character evolved in later seasons. I'm sure she was fine, once she grew up, a little. But as this is Ianto, it's all good. He just needs to make a point. Once he's sure she won't be doing anything quite this stupid again, he'll play nice.
> 
> Plus, I've left SHEILD intact, so I needed some way for her to be recruited, even if I don't refer to her, ever again. Haha.
> 
> Oh, and I guess I should state the obvious. I know nothing abut hacking. Hopefully what I've included here is, if not technically possible, at least fits the story. We'll just pretend, and go with it, right? :)
> 
> Next up is mopping up this mess, then on to Vienna!
> 
> Stay safe, everyone!


	39. Chapter 39

“You seem to have broken her mechanism,” Phil remarked when Ianto stepped from the room, with Skye still weeping, inside.

“She needed to know what she’d done,” Ianto shrugged. “She’s good,” he added, looking at Phil. “She broke Tosh’s encryption. Not easily, but still. Someone with that ability needs to know how not to abuse it.”

“And you think she knows, now?”

“I do,” Ianto stared at her through the window. Her regret had beaten back his anger, and the room had begun to become close with it. “She’ll never make that mistake, again.”

“Miles Lydon is in custody,” Phil smiled.

“That was fast.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Throw away the bloody key,” Ianto snarled, still angry. “All of this, for a political machination.”

“And her?”

“Up to you,” Ianto shook his head.

“Seems like she could be a good ally.”

“Depends on your definition of ‘good’.”

“Or perhaps this could be her penance.”

“Now there’s a familiar tune.”

“An oldie but goodie.”

“You want my blessing?” Ianto’s temper flared again.

“Just your opinion,” Phil was unfazed.

“Already gave it to you,” Ianto huffed.

“Grudgingly.”

“Well, I’m still angry,” Ianto shrugged.

“I’m sorry. I know you’ve been working hard for this.”

“Guess I’ll go see how Foggy got on, with his interview,” Ianto turned to go, and slumped away from Phil.

“Ianto,” Phil called out, and Ianto turned back. “You look like hell. Try to get some rest, okay?”

Ianto gave him a small smile. “I will. Thanks.”

***

Foggy’s interview would become the stuff of legend. According to Foggy, anyway. Ianto was well pleased, though. It seemed that their quick action had stopped the public outrage in its tracks. In its wake groups sprung up all over the country, styling themselves the ‘Bring Bucky Back’ movement.

Foggy, Matt, Pepper, and Ianto had a video conference with President Ellis that night. He congratulated them on their quick action. Foggy had actually read part of the president’s statement that had accompanied the pardon to Matheson, who was visibly moved, during the interview.

“What is called for now, after decades of suffering and abuse, is the understanding that these were not the actions of the man who was taken prisoner, but rather the slave Hydra created. It is well past time to free him from Hydra, once and for all. In light of the evidence that Sergeant Barnes is no longer under Hydra’s influence, I hereby pardon the offenses he committed while imprisoned by them.”

The footage of a typical ‘day in the life of a Hydra asset’, as Foggy called it, was convincing, as well. Left on a cold stone floor to finish thawing out whilst suffering the effects of cryo sickness, naked and alone, the relative peace of that horror was interrupted by the first beatings, meant to rouse the Asset and get him into his gear. If they remembered, he would be fed the scraps from the STRIKE team’s last meal.

He was not allowed to question his missions, even if the questions were pertinent to carrying them out. In the clip Foggy showed, he asked what time the target was to be acquired. He was beaten soundly for asking, being told he would carry out his orders when he was told.

Once the mission concluded, he came back to get cleaned up, checked over, and give his report. Then he was fed scraps again before another beating to get him to the machine to be wiped. He always fought that, even if only by instinct. The excruciating pain of the mind wipe left him docile enough to be stuffed back into the cryo chamber without more of a fight.

Matheson was enraged at having been played. He proved to be exceptionally cooperative, most likely hoping to save his own skin, but it did help to have him spearheading the campaign in Barnes’ favor, now.

***

_“…And in other news, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, best friend of Captain America, is alive! After falling from a train in 1945, he was captured and imprisoned by Hydra…”_

***

_“The White House has responded by releasing to the public the President’s response that accompanied the Pardon he issued to Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes…”_

***

_“…The President today declared that he stands by his decision to pardon Sergeant Barnes, saying it was the right thing to do…”_

***

_“…And tonight’s guest is Dr. James Franklin, the country’s foremost authority on the psychological impact of extended imprisonment and brainwashing…”_

_“…It’s important to understand that there is no way to know the effects of more than six decades of imprisonment, but one thing we can definitively say is that it would be unjust to hold this man accountable for the actions Hydra forced him to carry out…”_

_“…Dr. Franklin, we understand you have had the opportunity to study the mind-wipe mechanism used on Sergeant Barnes, along with some of Hydra’s records. Do you think he is innocent?”_

_“…I believe he is a war hero who was captured and the things done to him…” Franklin almost broke down, at this point in the interview. “Simply heinous,” he rasped._

***

It had been several weeks, and public opinion was overwhelmingly on the side of Sergeant Barnes, now. Ianto knew better than to try to control any of it. He simply gave it a nudge, every now and then. It had actually calmed down, and was no longer front-page news, which was a relief.

Ianto had never been so thankful for the public’s short attention span as he was now.

***

A week before the summit, word arrived that Peggy Carter had passed away. Ianto spent an evening with Steve and a bottle of hypervodka that he had obtained from John Hart, some months, before. Not appreciating the man himself overly much, Ianto had nevertheless been grateful that he had come through, with the bottle. He’d had a feeling it would be needed, sooner or later.

He had a faster metabolism, now. And while Ianto’s history ensured that his go-to method of coping was not alcohol, he knew that if it came down to just needing to get snobbled, he’d need something that could do the trick. He’d always heard Jack say that hypervodka was the only thing that got him properly drunk anymore, so he’d emailed Hart.

(What Ianto would never know was how much it had hurt Jack, to know that he had approached someone he didn’t care for, rather than the friend he’d told Jack he still was. Truth be told, Ianto had reached out to Hart because Jack’s regret was palpable to Ianto, and he couldn’t seem to block it. And it only stirred his own loneliness and grief. Perhaps that would change in time, but with the spark gone, Ianto knew they couldn’t go back, and there wouldn’t be any mindless shags, ‘for old times’ sake’.)

So Ianto ended up finding Steve on Myfanwy’s floor, carrying a bottle of hypervodka. They toasted Peggy, and spoke for many hours about her, and the past, and Steve’s struggles to fit in, now. Once more Ianto regretted not telling him where Bucky was, but he knew in his heart that Bucky wasn’t ready to leave his solitude behind, just yet.

The alien hangover cure worked a treat, as did the fry-up Ianto cooked the next morning. He stayed close to Steve until they headed to London, for the funeral.

***

**_Azi  
_ ** _(Romanian Newspaper Classified Ads)_

_Seeking: One drakon. Definitely mad. Will confirm that Cymru could never be mistaken for Alba. Vowels too lovely. Grateful for the thousand pardons granted for past sins, but not loving the publicity, which has raised new concerns regarding safety. But… homesick._

***

They would be leaving for the UN conference in a few hours, but Ianto was beyond pleased. He arranged for a new ad to be posted the next day, once more giving the phone number that would be routed to his cell phone.

Having checked in, he knew Barnes was in Bucharest, but he wanted to let the sergeant have full control over how he came in from out of the cold.

Less than a half day later, Ianto was forced to take back that control…

***

Ianto was sitting on a bench, holding his handkerchief to his temple, attempting to staunch the flow of blood. It had all happened so fast… He cursed himself for not being more vigilant. The tree branches wrapped around his team were meant to protect them from psychic harm, they were not strong enough to protect them from a physical assault without him focusing on that sort of threat. And he hadn’t been…

“It’s not your fault,” Natasha scolded, knowing his thoughts.

“It would have been nothing to protect the building, had I been paying proper attention,” he muttered.

“You had no reason to expect this,” she replied.

It was true. They had spoken to King T’Chaka and Prince T’Challa before the conference had begun. Ianto, Natasha, Clint, and Steve had flown in first thing, having attended Peggy Carter’s funeral the previous day. Steve had appreciated the show of support, and he seemed to be navigating his grief well. Ianto was somewhat grateful that the isolation of those months they worked to take down Hydra had given Steve some practice, had taught Steve how to grieve.

The conference was in a bright, open room, full of windows and natural lighting. All of the Avengers were in attendance, sitting in the front rows of the two sections, close to the stage area. King T’Chaka had opened the conference with a stirring speech, and had presented the Accords. Once they had been accepted by unanimous vote – merely a technicality, as the committee had already signed them – he was making some closing remarks when his son had turned from the window, running towards his father and shouting for everyone to get down.

It wasn’t enough of a warning. Ianto had leapt over his table and turned towards the room, the tree thickening around the group and moving backwards to encompass those on the stage, but he had been too slow. Even his own protection had been too weak.

“Stop it,” Natasha admonished again. “You protected most of the room, and you know it.”

“It wasn’t enough,” Ianto shook his head, fighting tears. T’Chaka was gone. His friend. Another friend, lost. His son, devastated. Ianto didn’t require empathy to understand that most sons mourned the loss of their fathers.

In truth, they had been lucky. There had been some casualties, but only three deaths – the king of Wakanda and the two aides who had been on the stage with him.

“We need to take lead on this,” Ianto said, standing.

“CIA’s already here,” Natasha said, falling in step with him.

“Good thing we outrank them, then.”

***

“We have lead on this,” Michael Lampling, the CIA Task Force Commander, said dismissively when they entered the room commandeered for coordination.

“If you’re talking about the grainy footage anonymously released to the press rather than the authorities, then you’re being manipulated,” Ianto replied, taking charge as the rest of the Avengers filed into the room. “Barnes did not do this, and SHIELD is taking point, now.”

“You most certainly are not taking over this investigation,” Lampling sputtered. “Particularly if you’re willing to overlook crucial evidence, just because Barnes used to be Rogers’ _bestie_.”

“I am overlooking irrelevant information, not evidence,” Ianto stood toe-to-toe with the pompous prat.

“How do you know?”

“Because I know where Barnes was, as of nine o’clock this morning, and he could not have made it to Vienna in time to appear on that bogus video,” Ianto replied, and the room went completely still.

He was thankful that Steve and Sam were professional enough to keep quiet, and he could tell that someone – most likely Natasha – had just kicked Tony to keep him from blurting out something.

“SHIELD knows where Barnes is,” Lampling looked hesitant, for the first time.

“Yes,” Ianto held firm. Technically, as he was SHIELD, SHIELD knew where Barnes was.

“For how long?”

“Not relevant to this conversation,” Ianto replied smoothly. “Suffice it to say, someone is trying to play you. They want Barnes brought in. Either to take the heat off, to attempt to manipulate the Avengers, or simply because he’s been in the news, of late.”

“Will SHIELD be bringing him in, then?” Everett Ross, Deputy Task Force Commander, asked.

“We’ll have to bring him in, now, for his own protection, being as your people failed to keep this from getting blasted to the news outlets before it was vetted. Congratulations. Now you have a manhunt going for an innocent man, while the real culprit gets away with it.”

Lampling blustered to interrupt, “No, _we_ will bring him in.”

Ianto was relieved to see Ross rolling his eyes at his boss’ posturing. He now knew whom he could reason with, once the prat dug himself a hole. “You will stand down, Officer Lampling, or face the consequences.” He turned to leave.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Lampling asked.

“If there’s any hope of finding out who actually did this, we need to begin our investigation,” Ianto answered. “If you continue to interfere with a SHIELD operation, I will lodge a complaint.”

Lampling caught Ianto’s arm and spun him around. “You can take your complaint, and shove it up your ass! We’re going after this piece of shit Barnes, and we’re going to take him down for this.”

“Even if he’s innocent?” Ianto asked.

“He’s not!”

“I’ve already told you he cannot be the man on the leaked CCTV footage.”

“Then you’re covering for him!”

Ianto went very still, and Lampling let go of his arm and stepped back, suddenly wary. “Are you accusing me of being part of a terrorist attack? On a conference that I was actually attending?”

“No one is saying that,” Ross cut in quickly. He wasn’t sure who Jones was, precisely, but he knew enough to realize that as the Avengers’ handler, he was pretty far up SHIELD’s food chain, and therefore not to be fucked with.

“Actually, that is precisely what Officer Lampling has just implied,” Ianto was not going to let _that_ go. “Be on notice, I’ll be adding that to my list of complaints.”

“Complaints?” Lampling continued to bluster even as Ianto and the team stepped from the room.

***

Nothing was said until they reached the Quinjet.

“Bucharest,” Ianto told Clint, who nodded and climbed into the pilot’s seat.

“How long?” Steve asked.

“Since I got back from Snowdonia,” Ianto replied.

“So pretty much the whole time he’s been gone,” Steve said as Sam shook his head and walked away fuming, hands on hips showing his temper.

“Yes.” Ianto straightened and stood before Steve.

“So you just let us go on wild goose chases,” Steve’s temper was getting the better of him.

“Had I told you I knew what city he was in, would you have stayed away?” Ianto asked, his voice gentle.

“No!” Steve shouted. “The whole point was to find him, to bring him home!”

“Steve, did it occur to you that he had some things to work out, some healing to do? If he had wanted to come home, he would have, on his own. He wasn’t ready. I tried to honor that. But if I’d told you anything at all, he wouldn’t have had this time to himself.”

“But we could have helped him,” Steve looked more anguished than angry, now.

“I offered help. He refused.”

“Yeah, _you_ offered help,” Steve sneered, and the expression didn’t fit his face. “Did it occur to _you_ that his response may have been different, had it been me offering help?”

“I’ve no doubt he would have ignored his own healing to do whatever you asked,” Ianto said. His tone was gentle, but Steve’s eyes widened as though Ianto had punched him. “You’re his best friend, and he would have felt pressured.”

Steve deflated as though Ianto had stuck a pin in him. “God, you’re right, aren’t you? I would have gone and gotten him, and brought him home, and he would’ve come, whether he wanted to, or not.”

“I’m sorry I deceived you,” Ianto said, and Steve and Sam both deflated a bit more, at the sincerity in his tone. They were still angry, but they understood. “But I knew he needed time.” He blew out a breath. “Ironically, he reached out yesterday, saying he was homesick. I took that to mean he’s ready to come home. I wanted to give him more autonomy, but now we’re going to have to go get him, rather than allow him to come to us.”

“Shit,” Steve muttered. Then he looked at Ianto. “You’ve been looking out for him, this whole time, haven’t you? Giving him time to heal, applying for amnesty and that pardon, paving the way for him to come home.”

“Looking to recruit our next Avenger?” Tony was standing back, his arms crossed. He was angry, as well. “Why keep it a secret?”

“Because he’s right,” Steve sat down with a sigh. “I would’ve gone after Bucky, whether he was ready to come home, or not.”

Ianto looked at Tony. “And no, I don’t recruit new team members. Steve does. Remember?”

Tony unfolded his arms and huffed.

“He’s had so much autonomy taken from him,” Ianto said, his voice low. “I was trying to let him have some control over his own life.”

“By stalking him?” Tony asked.

“You don’t understand!” Ianto said, growing agitated. He began pacing. “I know you don’t really believe it, but I was _inside_ his mind! I know how broken he was, and I know how much he needed time and space and solitude, to heal.” He ran a hand through his hair, inadvertently making the cut on his temple begin to bleed, again.

“But you can’t get that close to someone and not _care_ ,” he confessed. “So yes, I tracked him down. I found out what city he was in, and put an ad in the classifieds. He responded with his own ad, but didn’t call the number. I took that to mean he was okay with me knowing where he was, but he needed more time.”

Ianto explained that he checked in via CCTV once a week, mostly just to be sure Barnes was safe and healthy. He always knew what city the sergeant was in – that is all he ever bothered to find out – but he never looked for an address. And they would need to excuse him now, so he could find an address, because he was certain bloody Lampling and the CIA were not going to stand down.

“Tony, can you try to clean up the CCTV footage that was leaked to the press?” Ianto asked, pulling out his own laptop and tunneling into Mainframe. He needed to be quick, now. On his orders, SHIELD had already begun forcing the media outlets to make retractions, stating that the image was not of Sergeant Barnes, and that misinformation had mostly likely been leaked by the perpetrator.

Even so, people were going to be on the lookout, and sooner rather than later, Barnes would be found. They needed to be sure it was by them, not the CIA.

He had just zeroed in on the building, and, making an educated guess, he thought he had the apartment, due to the newspapers on the windows, blocking the view. While old spy tricks still worked, what they didn’t take into account was the aesthetic.

No one else had newsprint on their windows…

Steve and Sam went after Bucky, while Ianto worked with Tony on the CCTV footage. Tony cleaned up the bit that had been leaked and started running the scrubbed images against facial recognition software, while Ianto checked other cameras in the surrounding area during that timeframe.

They both hit pay dirt.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so we're heading into the civil war that wasn't. Hope you like.
> 
> I think it's interesting that no one can stay angry with Ianto, for very long. It occurs to me (and this wasn't part of my plotting) that maybe he's projecting his sincerity, and that's what they pick up on. But what I do know is that he wouldn't be able to project sincerity if he wasn't being sincere. That's a skillset he hasn't learned, to manipulate by projection. In other words, he can't project something he's not feeling. So he can't use the projection gig to sell a lie... Doesn't mean he can't still lie, he just can't use his gifts to do it.
> 
> Anyway... Hope you enjoy. Drop me a comment, to let me know what you think. 
> 
> Am currently listening to sporadic fireworks and hoping against hope that people aren't being terribly stupid and congregating just as this bastard of a virus spikes again. 
> 
> Be safe and be well everyone. But above all, be kind.   
> 💜


	40. Chapter 40

Well, the cat-man and the CIA had royally fucked the Avengers’ rescue op, and Steve and Sam were now in custody on some bogus charge of impeding an investigation, so the rest of the team hightailed it to Berlin, beating what Ianto called the ‘paddy wagon’ by hours.

Rhodes, Banner, and the twins returned to New York, and the rest bided their time. Ianto worked with Phil to reach out to the Office of the Inspector General regarding Lampling’s behavior, and then he did a bit of digging.

He was appalled, but frankly not surprised that he, Tony, Natasha, and Clint simply walked into the extensive CIA field offices in Berlin, still at least an hour ahead of the prisoners. The goons at the door barely checked any of their credentials. Nor was he stopped at any point before finding the locker rooms and changing into a pair of navy overalls worn by the maintenance staff.

And Ianto wasn’t even _trying_ to be invisible.

“Ooh, Weevil chic,” he muttered, hearing someone snort a laugh on the comms. He made it to the detention area without being challenged. He had commandeered a toolbox, and he set about installing individual hotspots with high-def cameras attached throughout the room. Each had its own power source, and they all broadcast to one place only, Ianto’s StarkPad.

Naturally, there was nothing in Spook Central to scramble the signal.

Toshiko’s words from long ago echoed through his head. _Come on, guys, that wasn't even difficult. You disappoint me._

Still, he’d take it.

***

Ianto divested himself of the coveralls and joined the rest of the team. When the prisoners arrived a short time later, he was on the phone with Foggy and Matt, talking through their response to the allegations. He sent them the CCTV footage of Barnes in Bucharest the morning of the attack, more than six hundred and fifty miles from Vienna. Luckily, Matheson and the Bring Bucky Back movement were already taking a defensive stance.

“Ah,” Lampling crowed as he entered the office with Ross, T’Challa, Steve, and Sam. “Despite SHIELD’s interference, _we_ have secured the prisoner.”

“An executive order to cease and desist is on its way,” Ianto replied calmly. “You apprehended Sergeant Barnes in Bucharest, despite having received orders, otherwise. I have proof that he has been there since well before the bombing in Vienna, and did not leave the city. You have the wrong man.”

“So you say,” Lampling breezed. “But if he’s innocent, then the questioning will bear that out.”

“He is not to be interrogated,” Ianto demanded.

“You do not have the authority…”

“Actually,” Ianto spoke over the fool, “I do.”

“Well, you’re too late. He’s being questioned, as we speak.”

“By whom?” Ianto opened the camera feed on his StarkPad. This was bloody unacceptable…

“A specialist we brought in,” Lampling said pompously.

“And who might that be?” Ianto looked up.

“Dr. Theo Broussard,” he looked smug.

Ianto pulled up a file on Broussard. “This man?” He showed a picture of Broussard from a case file, which matched the picture on the dust jacket of his latest book. It had taken him less than three seconds to find.

“Yes, that’s him,” Lampling confirmed.

“Then why,” Ianto asked, pulling up live footage from the detention area, “is _this man_ currently questioning Sergeant Barnes?”

He showed footage of someone who was decidedly _not_ Dr. Theo Broussard currently in with Bucky, who was beginning to struggle against his restraints.

“Where did you…”

Just then, the lights went out.

“Friday, get me a source on this outage,” Tony spoke into his comms.

Ianto rounded on Lampling, who was sputtering, even as Ross was calling for a lockdown of the facility. “You are a fool,” he snarled, “and I will see to it that you are relieved of your command, for this.”

He unceremoniously shoved the idiot aside and began running for the detention level. Having already made the trek, he knew the way and was able to get there quickly. He plugged a set of headphones into the StarkPad and listened as the imposter began reeling off a set of commands, in Russian. Barnes was doing everything he could to fight the words, which were clearly some sort of trigger.

As Ianto ran, he played back the words, ensuring he had committed them to memory. As he entered the detention area, he set down the StarkPad and pulled out his stun gun. “I need backup down here,” he spoke quietly.

“What, did you fly down there?” Tony asked, even as Natasha responded.

“On our way.”

Ianto quickly walked up behind the imposter and stunned him. In the next moment, Barnes had him by the throat. He spoke as quickly and clearly as he could manage.

“Zhelaniye, prorzhavevshiy, semnadtsat', rassvet, pech', devyat', dobrokachestvennyy, vozvrashcheniye domoy, odin, gruzovoy vagon.”[1]

Barnes dropped him, and he gave a shaky wheeze, his knees feeling rubbery and his throat feeling wrong, somehow. No time for that now, though. He reached out and steadied himself by bracing his left hand on Barnes’ right shoulder.

“Soldat?” he growled, gasping for breath.

“Gotov soblyudat',” came the reply.[2]

“I don’t suppose it’d work to just order you to throw off the programming, would it?” he muttered. Barnes looked at him blankly.

“What did he want?” Ianto asked, and was only a bit surprised by Barnes’ answer.

Additional backup lighting flickered on, and suddenly the room was filled with people, many of them armored and shouting.

“Stand down!” Ianto ordered.

Recognizing Ianto as a SHIELD agent, the armored response team lowered their weapons.

The imposter groaned from the floor, and Ianto picked up his stun gun from where he’d dropped it when Barnes was throttling him and pulled the trigger, causing it to spark. He absently tossed the spark at the arsehole, who convulsed in a most gratifying manner before going still, once more.

In the next moment, Lampling came screeching into the area, screaming, “The prisoner has escaped his restraints!”

“Stand down!” Ianto repeated, but the armored personnel were once more raising their weapons. Lampling grabbed a gun off of one of them. Steve stepped forward, but T’Challa blocked his way, allowing Lampling to get off a shot.

Ianto felt himself being pushed behind Barnes, then felt the sergeant give a jolt, as though he’d taken a hit. He spun clear of the shielding the sergeant was attempting to provide, and upon seeing the man just standing there, with his vibranium arm blown off, he may or may not have lost his shit, just a little bit.

Every CIA officer in the room (meaning everyone in the room who wasn’t an Avenger, Deputy Task Force Commander Ross, or the new king of Wakanda) was hurled against the wall, repeatedly, until all but Lampling had dropped their weapons. Ianto was vaguely impressed by his grip. T’Challa was wrapped up in a branch as well, but a bit more gently, and he stayed on the ground.

“I SAID STAND DOWN!” Ianto roared as they were all thrust, upside down, against the various walls, high enough up to have real concerns about their safety, should they be dropped.

Ianto unceremoniously dropped Lampling to the floor from a slightly lower height, then stalked over and tore the gun – a crude energy blaster – from the man’s grasp. He looked at it, then sneered, “Hammer Tech,” tossing the gun to Tony to be disabled.

“Yeah, it mis-fired,” Tony said, glancing at Barnes and wincing. “Probably for the best – it was on a lethal setting.”

Ianto grabbed the red journal from where Broussard’s imposter had dropped it and handed it to Steve. “Get Friday to scan this in, and then destroy it.”

Steve took the book and nodded, pulling out his StarkPhone and instructing Friday to scan the pages as he turned them.

“Oh,” Ianto chuckled as he turned to Lampling, and it was an unpleasant thing, “shall I explain to you the many, _many_ ways in which you have fucked up today, Lampling?”

“You can’t speak to me that way,” Lampling sneered. “Don’t just stand there, Ross. _Do_ something!”

“Sir,” Ross stepped forward. “I hereby relieve you of your duties.” He turned to Ianto as Lampling screeched again. “My apologies, Agent Jones. I will be advising my superiors that SHIELD ordered us to stand down and took point on this investigation, and that the Task Force Commander willfully countermanded that order. I will offer my full cooperation to the OIG investigation that I know you have initiated.”

“Thank you,” Ianto nodded. His throat hurt.

“You were about to explain the… problems with the CIA’s response to the attack?” Ross smirked.

Ianto decided that he liked Ross. He made a great show of straightening his tie as he spoke. “First of all, the CCTV footage that was leaked to the press. We cleaned it up and ran it against facial recognition. It’s only a 74% match to Sergeant Barnes, but a 92% match to one Colonel Helmut Zemo, Sokovian Intelligence.”

“Sokovian?” Ross’ eyebrows went up.

“And around the corner from the garage where the footage was so conveniently obtained,“ Tony added, “we found a 98% match for Zemo, as he adjusted the wig and hat on his Barnes costume.”

Ross pinched the bridge of his nose. “Any idea what this Zemo character’s agenda is?”

“Well, that’s where the second problem comes in,” Ianto said. “We also have another match for Zemo, this one 100%.”

“Where?”

Ianto pointed to the man who had entered the facility, posing as Broussard. Currently unconscious on the floor. Clint moved over to him and zip-tied his hands after frisking him thoroughly and pulling a number of weapons from him.

“Look,” Ianto sighed. “I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but just looking at someone’s fake ID and taking their word for it seems… not up to the standards one would expect from the CIA.”

“Go on, you have more to say, I can tell,” Ross said, looking around the room. He vaguely wondered what Jones’ power was, and whether he’d accidently drop any of their quick response team on their melons before this was done. The eight-man team had scrambled quickly enough, and they had actually stood down when asked. It was Lampling who had confused things, and then fired.

And didn’t that excite a whole different set of questions?

“This is a CIA field office,” Ianto said, looking at Ross.

“It is.”

“And yet, it’s on the city’s power grid.”

“So?”

“So, that’s how he got full, almost unrecorded access to Sergeant Barnes. All he had to do was hit a power station. Right, Tony?”

“Yep. Just outside of town. Took down the whole grid.”

“Always have your own power source,” Ianto chided.

“Noted,” Ross said, wondering how many more things SHIELD was going to note the CIA had botched. Then he paused. “Wait a minute. What do you mean, ‘almost unrecorded’?”

Ianto pointed to the cameras he had mounted around the room. Then he held up a remote, and they all just sort of… melted. “Independent power source, and wired into WiFi hotspots.”

“And how, exactly, did you manage to install them in here?”

Ianto shrugged. “No one even asked me what I was doing.”

“You just walked in… When?” Ross huffed. “No, no, don’t tell me. It was when you were missing from the rest of the group this afternoon, wasn’t it?”

“You noticed?” Ianto asked, his eyebrows raised. He was being a dick, and he knew it, but these people had got on his tits, and he was _done_.

And his throat hurt.

Not to mention his head.

“We’ve recorded that whole farce of an interview.” He canted his head. “Friday, please erase the trigger words from the video footage and the pages Steve has just scanned in, and then erase them from your own memory, as well.”

“I cannot erase footage from my own memory without primary authorization,” Friday replied.

Ianto looked to Tony, who said, “Authorization granted.”

“Done,” Friday announced, a moment later.

“Thank you,” Ianto said, and Tony nodded.

“What did he want?” Steve asked.

“The Asset’s mission report for 16 December, 1991,” Ianto said, still looking at Tony.

Tony’s eyes widened. “Oh. My God. All those months ago. You actually called it, kid.”

“Called what?” Ross asked, confused.

“That someone would try to use this against us,” Tony said.

Ross looked even more confused, so Ianto explained, “Hydra forced the Asset to kill Howard and Maria Stark on that date.”

Ross drew in a shocked breath. “And he wanted to use that information to, what?”

“The whole world knows that Barnes and Rogers are best friends,” Ianto shrugged, and Steve smiled his appreciation at Ianto’s use of the present tense. “And they know Cap would most likely fight to protect Barnes. I imagine Zemo wanted to expose the Starks’ killer.”

“Thinking Stark would want revenge, and Rogers would fight to protect Barnes,” Ross nodded. “Makes sense. But why drive a wedge between Rogers and Stark?”

“Uh, standing right here,” Tony groused. Steve didn’t look much happier.

“To destroy the Avengers,” Ianto said, looking from one to the other and able to do nothing to alleviate their shock.

“But why?”

“He lost his father, wife, and son when Ultron launched the city into the sky. They were on the outskirts of town, in an area where one of the faults formed, as the city broke away.” Ianto sighed sadly. “I understand his pain, but not his solution.”

Zemo stirred, then slowly sat up.

“I almost killed the wrong man,” T’Challa said, and Ianto released him, allowing him to approach Zemo.

“Hardly an innocent one,” Zemo replied.

“This is what you wanted? To see them rip each other apart?”

“An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again,” Zemo said, his voice low. “But one which crumples from within? That’s dead. Forever.” He looked around the room at the Avengers. “I lost everything that day. And the Avengers simply went home. And they think a simple piece of paper will make up for that?” He shook his head vehemently. “No!”

T’Challa sighed. “Vengeance has consumed you.” He looked at Ianto, then Barnes, and finally back to Zemo. “I am done letting it consume me. Justice will come, soon enough.”

Ianto reached out a hand, grasping T’Challa’s. “I am sorry for your loss, Your Highness,” he spoke solemnly. “I considered your father a friend.”

“As he considered you,” T’Challa replied. “You made him laugh as few others could.”

“Someday, I hope you will honor me with the story of… the Panther?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Their eyes were drawn to Sergeant Barnes, who stumbled as the programming released him. Ianto realized that had he been given orders, the programming would have held. But since no orders had been issued (other than for everyone to stand down), it released after a certain amount of time had passed.

Steve rushed over as Barnes regained his balance, his center of gravity having shifted due to the loss of the arm. Ianto walked over to him as well and reached out, almost touching the ruined arm, but not wanting to cause any discomfort.

“Sergeant Barnes?”

“Drakon,” Barnes muttered.

“Are you in pain?”

Barnes looked at him blankly.

Ianto felt a pang, that he needed to explain. “I understand the prosthetic was wired into your nervous system. Are you experiencing any pain associated with…” he trailed off, gesturing at the ruined arm.

“Just…” Barnes hesitated. “Discomfort.”

“Wait,” Tony strode over. “I have a miniature EMP… thingy,” he trailed off as he placed something the size of a button on what was left of the arm. “It may sting for a second, but it will kill what’s left of the arm. Should make it stop hurting.”

“Why would you help me?” Barnes asked Tony. “I…” he gasped. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“One question,” Tony said. “Would you have done it, if you’d been in control?”

“No!” Barnes declared. “Howard was my friend!”

Barnes flinched when the EMP was fired, but then gave a sigh of relief as the neural pathways stopped screaming due to the damage to the arm.

“And that’s why I’d help you,” Tony answered simply.

Zemo simply stared, wide-eyed.

Tony stalked over to him. “I already knew, so your elaborate little plan was doomed to fail. But you killed good people, and that makes you no better than what you declare us to be. But here’s the thing that makes you so much worse,” he tossed over his shoulder as he turned to stride away, “We didn’t set out to deliberately kill anyone. You did.”

Ianto gently lowered and released the tactical team, and they led Lampling and Zemo from the room. Ross was curious, but he made to follow them out.

“Check your email,” Ianto called out to Ross. “You’ll find some interesting reading.”

Ross nodded. He pulled out his phone and his eyes widened as he saw the information that Ianto had discovered. Lampling had lost a fiancé in the Battle of New York, and had been very vocal within the ranks of the CIA that he blamed the Avengers for it. Added to that were several large funds transfers that had been traced back to Zemo, and now Ross had a very clear picture as to why Lampling, who was normally fairly competent, had behaved so irrationally.

The Avengers and T’Challa were now on their own with Barnes. Ianto gave him a look and said, “I know you didn’t like the graffiti, but this seems a bit extreme.”

Bucky gave a brief smile, but then reached out his right hand and traced a finger gently along Ianto’s collar, where the skin on his neck had already turned a deep, angry shade of red. He held back a gasp at the spark he felt and secretly exulted when Ianto didn’t flinch away from his touch, but soon enough, his shame overruled all else. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hushed and low.

“Wasn’t your fault,” Ianto replied, and his voice was strong so the team could hear him. “Far as I’m concerned, Zemo did this.”

Bucky fell to his knees. “Please, Drakon,” he whispered, his head bowed. “Please end this.” He looked up at Ianto, his face a mask of grief and pain. “I can’t go on, knowing there’s this time bomb, ticking inside my head.” He took Ianto’s hand. “And the things I’ve done… I… I don’t deserve to survive.”

“Buck,” Steve dropped beside his friend, looking broken.

In that moment, T’Challa saw not an assassin, but a man. A man who had suffered as few others had. He saw deep pain and regret for actions that were not even his own. And he saw an opportunity to help someone heal.

Ianto’s heart cracked open as he watched a tear track down Bucky’s face. He grasped Bucky’s hand in both of his and knelt, facing him. “It wasn’t you.”

“How can you know that?” Bucky looked at him, wild-eyed.

Ianto gave him a gentle smile. “I think you already know the answer to that question, Sergeant Barnes.” He rotated his right hand so that he and Bucky were holding hands, clasping thumbs. He did his best not to notice how right it felt, touching this man. Looking at Bucky until the older man met his eyes, he said, “Will you please let me help you?”

Blue-grey eyes filled with pain, anguish, and uncertainty bored into Ianto’s for a moment, and he opened his defenses and began projecting a sense of safety, calm, and peace. Bucky’s eyes widened a fraction before he gave a shaky nod.

***

[1] Longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car.

[2] Ready to comply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Finally reunited! This is pretty much the extent of "Civil War". Hope you like the deconstruction. 
> 
> Some dialogue lifted from "Captain America: Civil War" and Tosh's remembered line from the episode "Sleeper".
> 
> Let me know what you think! :)


	41. Chapter 41

Ianto slowly reached out with his left hand, careful to let Bucky see every move, well before he made it. Those watching could see the care and tenderness with which those elegant fingers slid through Bucky’s hair and found the back of his head, holding him steady as Ianto leaned forward.

“It’s all right,” Ianto assured, his voice low. “I won’t hurt you. I promise I won’t.”

Ianto pressed his forehead to Bucky’s and drew in a sharp breath at the chaos he found. Anguish at being dragged back into an imprisonment he had thought he’d escaped was at the forefront, as was a terror of still being subject to the control of another. Shame at being unable to resist the programming warred with the devastation of having harmed the mad drakon who had done so much for him.

“Shhh,” Ianto soothed. “Mae'n iawn. Rydych chi'n ddiogel, nawr.[1]

Bucky visibly relaxed at the sound of Ianto’s voice, making it easier for the younger man to begin soothing the damage from the trigger and check in. Ianto was impressed that other than the inflammation that was clearly caused by Zemo, Bucky was extremely well healed from everything else. He was solid. Ianto quickly soothed the inflammation and projected calm and well-being and did what he could to encourage self-forgiveness, though he stopped short of any sort of manipulation.

As he continued to project tranquility, he felt Bucky begin to relax a bit more. He spent a few moments exploring, looking for where the trigger resided. When he found it, Bucky tensed and let out a cry.

“Shhh,” Ianto said calmly. “I just need to see. Maybe we can figure out how to remove it.”

Ianto ignored the way Bucky’s hand was crushing his own. He projected more calm and tried to understand what he was seeing. After sending a final wave of comfort and healing, he slowly extricated himself from Bucky’s mind. He felt something on his upper lip, so as he began backing away, he reached for his handkerchief and pretended to sneeze into it.

He gave Bucky’s hand a squeeze and stood, turning his back in order to wipe the blood from his face before the sergeant could see it. He looked at Natasha and raised an eyebrow, and she nodded that his face showed no trace of the nosebleed. When he turned back, Bucky was watching him, a small smile spreading across his face.

“Thank you, Drakon.”

Ianto smiled and gave him a nod. He looked around the room. “We should get going.” He looked back to Bucky. “You okay with coming with us?”

“Where?” Bucky asked. “Most people still think it was me, who blew up that conference.”

“We’re working on that,” Ianto replied.

“Don’t you want to go home?” Steve asked.

Bucky looked at Steve and nodded. “I do, but shouldn’t we let this cool down, before I try to go back to New York?”

“Sergeant Barnes,” T’Challa said, approaching Bucky. “I apologize for believing the lies told about you. I would like to offer sanctuary to you in Wakanda, until things calm down. And we may be able to help you, with the trigger. My sister Shuri is the leader of the Wakandan Design Group.”

Bucky looked from Steve to Ianto, then down. He was still incapable of asking for what he needed, but T’Challa understood, well enough.

“Of course, your friends should come along. You will need support, as you heal,” T’Challa said, noticing how his words immediately calmed the man, who was looking hopefully from Ianto to Steve.

But mostly at Ianto.

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve reached out and grasped his friend’s shoulder. “We’ll come.”

Ianto tore his eyes away from Bucky to glance at Steve, then nodded as his eyes were once more drawn to the sergeant. “Of course.”

***

Extensive questioning of Helmut Zemo would show that he had made a trip to Siberia, after obtaining the notebook containing the Asset’s trigger. He had killed all of the enhanced soldiers that had been in cryo at the defunct Hydra facility.

A SHIELD cleanup crew was dispatched.

The body of the real Dr. Broussard was also recovered.

Tony, Clint, and Natasha headed back to New York. Bucky, Ianto, and Steve accompanied T’Challa and Ayo to Wakanda, where the three guests had their eyes opened to the hidden realm.

By the time they arrived, it was late in the evening. Bucky was shown to the medical quarters, and a protective sleeve was placed over the remains of his prosthetic arm so the mangled metal could not injure him, in the night. Ianto insisted on staying with him until he was settled in. He and Steve talked to him as he ate, and made sure he was comfortable before leaving him, to sleep.

Ianto and Steve were shown to the guest quarters, not far away. They each had some clothing – Bucky had somehow kept hold of his go bag, and Steve and Ianto had retrieved their own luggage from the Quinjet, but it would only be sufficient for a couple of days. They decided they would figure out next steps after food and rest.

Ianto could hardly swallow, and his heart was beating a relentless tattoo in his head. He requested a pain reliever after T’Challa noticed he was not eating, and retired. He slept far longer than was normal for him, but when he woke the next morning, he felt significantly better. The bruising around his neck was in full bloom, though he knew it would be gone within a few days. Thankfully, his headache had eased, the cut over his brow already half-healed.

Steve and Ianto joined T’Challa for breakfast, and had the opportunity to meet his mother. Ianto was quick to give his condolences, and was surprised that the dowager Queen knew who he was.

“Oh, yes,” she gave a sad smile. “My husband always enjoyed his correspondence with you, Mr. Jones. Called you the voice of reason in the wilderness.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Ianto felt himself blush at the compliment.

T’Challa’s younger sister joined them as their mother made her excuses. Shuri was in mourning, of course, but it did little to dampen her brilliance and exuberance and outspoken tendencies. In speaking with her, Ianto was reminded of both Toshiko and Lisa. Shuri, in turn, was quite taken with the soft spoken Welshman, and decided he would be fun to flirt with. Not just to keep in practice, but also because it always annoyed her brother.

It had been a while since Ianto had been around anyone as mischievous as Shuri. He was quite rusty, but as they began talking about her work, a playful banter developed between the two. They drew Steve into their conversation, and Ianto was delighted that the older man allowed some of his own humor show.

As the meal ended, they made their way to Shuri’s lab. Bucky was escorted there, as well, and Ianto was quick to check in with him. He was sitting up on an examination table, and Ianto hopped up beside him.

“May I?” he asked, and Bucky gave him a small smile and a nod.

Ianto pressed their foreheads together, trying very hard not to notice the sweetness of the connection between them. He forced himself to focus. The damage from the trigger was healed, and Ianto was able to have a better look at his handiwork from a year and a half, before. He remembered the strange dreams he’d had as he recovered, including those about kintsugi and mended bowls. He now saw the inspiration for those dreams.

Bucky’s mind was _beautiful_. It had been broken, but now it was strong and breathtaking in its mended-ness.

“You’ve healed well,” Ianto said softly as he leaned away, again. When he saw Bucky looking at him, wide-eyed, he frowned. “What?”

“You were speaking to me,” Bucky said.

“Buck, he didn’t say anything,” Steve said, looking concerned.

Ianto frowned. “What did you hear?”

“I only heard one word, but it was your voice,” Bucky said, looking down and blushing. “You said, ‘beautiful’.”

Ianto’s eyes widened. He took Bucky’s hand. _Can you hear me?_

Bucky gasped, then nodded.

Ianto reached out to Steve. _Can you?_

Steve just frowned. “What’s going on, Ianto?”

“I suppose in a way, that makes sense,” Ianto nodded thoughtfully.

“What is happening?” Shuri asked.

Ianto found himself sharing a bit of his own background with Shuri, T’Challa, and Bucky. He explained about Torchwood One forcing certain skills forward, and how one of them had been touch telepathy. He told them that in healing Bucky eighteen months before, he had given up that gift in order to mend the sergeant’s mind.

Bucky looked appalled, but Ianto reached out and grasped his forearm. “Stop. It was my choice. I made a mess in there,” he nodded towards Bucky’s head, “and I wasn’t sure you could survive, unless I did something to mend it.”

“But…”

“And now, we see that it’s still there,” Ianto said. “I haven’t missed it, really. But if it makes you feel better, now that you’re healed, perhaps we can find a way for me to reclaim some part of it, as long as it does you no harm.” He looked at Bucky. “I suppose we should try to see if you can use it.”

“What?”

“Well, it is in there, now,” Ianto nodded at Bucky’s head, again.

“What do I do?”

“Just…” Ianto frowned. “Sort of _think_ what you want to say, rather than saying it aloud.”

“And I have to be touching you?”

“I was only a touch telepath,” Ianto nodded. “Only works, with contact. I can only assume that if you can make it work for you, it will work the same way.”

Bucky reached out and took Ianto’s hand, then frowned in concentration.

**_HELLO?_ **

Ianto jerked away from him, grasping his head with a startled cry. He fell off of the table, and only Steve’s quick reflexes kept him from landing in a heap at their feet.

“Bloody hell,” Ianto muttered, holding the heel of his hand to his brow as Steve leaned him against the table next to Bucky.

“What’d I do?” Bucky looked horrified. Steve, Shuri, and T’Challa looked concerned, as well.

“No need to shout,” Ianto said, his own voice hushed and a bit strained. It felt like a brain freeze, but typically for Ianto, instead of wearing off, it had left him with a headache, now.

“Sorry,” Bucky said, looking contrite but also the tiniest bit amused at what had happened.

“Shut up,” Ianto replied, seeing the humor in Bucky’s eyes.

The others began chuckling, as well.

Bucky took his hand again. _Is this better?_

Ianto nodded. _Much._

Bucky squeezed his hand gently. _Sorry. I gave you a headache, didn’t I?_

Ianto blushed. People didn’t normally pay attention, that closely. And it felt far too nice, holding hands with the handsome sergeant. _It’s all right. It’s already easing._

“I think you two are enjoying that a bit too much,” Shuri grinned, and they both looked at her blankly. Her grin only widened. Both already halfway there, and yet utterly oblivious.

Oh, this was going to be _fun_.

Bucky released Ianto’s hand, hoping his reluctance to do so wasn’t on display.

After a few moments of experimentation, they determined that both Bucky and Ianto were capable of touch telepathy, but only with one another.

Clearing his throat, Ianto began to explain what he could regarding the programming in Bucky’s head.

“How do you know this?” Shuri asked.

Ianto looked at Steve, who shrugged. In for a penny, he supposed. After all, they were at the mercy of these people. While the Wakandans had shown them nothing but courtesy and hospitality, they were here, in a hidden kingdom, far from their friends. If they meant any harm, they would have got to it, by now.

Plus, Ianto would’ve known.

Ianto described how the healing ability he had discovered in helping Bucky had been expanded when he had touched the Mind Stone.

“When I healed him yesterday, I was able to see how the trigger has been embedded in his mind,” he explained.

“That is fascinating,” Shuri said. “May I scan you, to see how your brain structure has been impacted?”

“Sure,” Ianto shrugged. Tony and Bruce had done the same thing. As near as they had been able to determine, the changes to Ianto’s physical brain were akin to how a deer trail through the woods could become the track for a high-speed train, much like the ones Ianto had observed through the windows of Shuri’s lab.

She quickly scanned him, then looked up from her handheld device, her eyes wide. “It is as though your neural pathways have become hyper-efficient,” she breathed.

“You assume he wasn’t that way, before,” Steve smirked, a hand landing on Ianto’s shoulder.

“Just an average student, me,” Ianto grinned, sticking to that old story.

“An average student with an eidetic memory and who didn’t want to be bothered with his studies, more like,” Steve chuckled.

Bucky was absolutely drinking in the information about the drakon, but he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy at the rapport he and Steve seemed to have. Of course, he knew that it was Ianto who had been Steve’s only lifeline for the first months after he had been brought out of the ice. Naturally there would be a closeness and camaraderie, there.

Didn’t mean Bucky had to like it.

He gave himself a shake and watched as Ianto shrugged again. “School was boring. But I suppose I do have the eidetic memory to thank for everything that followed.”

“How so?” T’Challa asked.

“It and a few other aptitudes put me on Torchwood’s radar, for developing psychic skills.”

“I have heard of their methods,” Shuri made a sour face.

“Whatever you heard, I can assure you, it was actually much worse,” Ianto muttered. “But, without their interference, there are many things that followed that I would not have survived.”

“Yes, it is difficult not to have a love-hate relationship with Torchwood, it seems,” T’Challa nodded. “A necessary evil, my father called it.”

“Torchwood is necessary to the defense of the planet,” Ianto agreed. “But what’s left of it is not evil.”

“Of course,” T’Challa backpedaled, much to his sister’s amusement. “I meant no offense to your previous work, or colleagues.”

Ianto nodded. Toshiko had been much on his mind, of late, and he was glad T’Challa had made his reversal. The Welshman didn’t feel quite up to explaining it all, though he would, for his Ume.

“You lost people,” Shuri guessed.

Ianto let out a breath. “Twenty-seven people survived Canary Wharf. Twenty-eight, counting Lisa.” He shook his head at the curious looks, definitely not up to explaining _that_. “Eight succumbed to their wounds within a few months. And another eleven couldn’t manage to survive surviving.” He sniffed.

“ _Eleven_ suicides?” Shuri looked appalled. Bucky noted that even Steve looked stunned. Clearly the drakon did not often discuss this.

“So far.” He held up his hands. “I can count on my two hands those still here, besides me.” He dropped them again. “And just two left, from my time at Torchwood Three.” After a few moments of silence, Ianto gave himself a shake. “I apologize. No need for us to get maudlin about this. Back to the point, I have seen how the trigger has been programmed into the sergeant’s mind.”

Shuri scanned Bucky, then went over to a monitor. “There may be a way,” she frowned. “It will take time, though.”

Bucky gave a small groan, and Ianto winced in sympathy. He wouldn’t want to wait, either.

“Sergeant Barnes, you should follow Aneka and Takia,” Shuri gestured to the two women. “They will take you to the lab and prepare you for the removal of that hideous prosthetic.”

“Hey, I’m rather attached to this prosthetic,” Bucky deadpanned.

“Not for long,” Shuri grinned.

Steve groaned, and Bucky looked at him. “What? I’m about to go back to being a helpless amputee. Least you can do is let me joke about it.”

“I doubt you have ever been helpless, Sergeant,” Shuri gave him a saucy smile. “But perhaps we can do something to keep you from feeling that way. It will just take a bit of time. Okay?”

Bucky nodded.

Ianto looked at the two women who were there to escort Bucky. One was clearly part of the medical team. The other, however… She moved like Natasha. He nodded. Understandable, if they were concerned about the sergeant’s stability.

T’Challa caught the nod and once more understood his father’s regard for the Avengers’ handler. The man was both compassionate and reasonable. And he was not given to taking offense at logical measures.

Ianto glanced at Bucky, who suddenly looked uncertain. Then he looked to Steve, who seemed to notice the same thing. Steve stepped forward. “C’mon, ya jerk. Let’s get that crap off of you.”

“Gonna hold my hand, punk?” Barnes rejoined with a grin, clearly putting on a brave face.

Ianto smiled at the two childhood friends as they bickered, following their escort from the lab. Then he turned to Shuri. “It’s embedded too deep for your methods to work, isn’t it?”

Shuri looked at him, wide-eyed. “How did you know?”

“This technology?” Ianto looked around. “If you could do it, it would already be done.”

“How do you know this?”

“Torchwood Archives,” he replied. “At one point we had something from the 47th century that could have easily taken care of this, but it was destroyed.”

“Do you remember how it worked? Perhaps we could reverse engineer something.”

Ianto sat down and leaned his head back, closing his eyes and letting out a breath. After a few moments, he was able to recall a great deal about the tech that had fallen through the rift.

“That is very sexy,” Shuri giggled. “I would very much like to bottle your brain.”

“Still using it, at the moment,” Ianto gave her a wicked grin as she chuckled.

T’Challa rolled his eyes. He hated it when his sister flirted.

***

[1] It’s all right. You’re safe, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a bridge, but some sparks. Hope you like.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	42. Chapter 42

The following two weeks were quite busy. The service honoring King T’Chaka was held within a week of his death. The event was attended by all. Ianto already had his best suit from attending Peggy Carter’s funeral, so he was well prepared to properly honor his friend. For both events, Ianto had to be talked into wearing his Victoria Cross.

Steve had his own suit as well, but he had Natasha ship him another, for Bucky to wear. (Early on, Tony and Ianto had insisted that Steve have a couple of decent suits, just in case.) Okoye found a seamstress who was able to make some alterations so Steve’s suit would properly fit Bucky.

Even Steve noticed his two friends trying particularly hard not to stare at one another, and he found himself curious as to how that would play out.

He knew – _of course_ he knew that his best friend was bisexual. You don’t grow up with someone and not pick up on something like that. He just hoped that Bucky knew it wasn’t illegal any more, and that Ianto would let Bucky in, and vice versa. 

Steve and Shuri found themselves bonding over the whole thing.

Once the funeral was over, a two week mourning period was announced, during which time preparations would be made for the incoronation ceremony. It was during this time that Shuri decided they should attempt to remove the trigger programmed into Bucky’s subconscious. Both Bucky and Ianto proceeded to endearing themselves to the siblings.

“Are you sure?” Bucky asked, his voice gentle.

“Maybe you should be taking this time for yourself, you know,” Ianto added, also concerned.

“Thank you both, but I have plenty of time in which to grieve, when we are not working,” Shuri said. “But I would not fare well, if I could not find solace in my work.”

“That I understand,” Ianto replied, reaching out and giving her hand a squeeze. She found herself a bit disappointed that he was not available for more than flirting, but she consoled herself with her front-row view of the dance he and Sergeant Barnes seemed to be engaging in.

Sadly, each man seemed to have too much damage and history to recognize the clear attraction from the other. She just hoped they’d figure it out – preferably while they were still in Wakanda, so she could watch the budding romance.

***

They had been discussing the best approach to healing Barnes since that first day. Ianto had been studying the tech they had modified, even as Shuri divided her time between her lab and the medical facility, where Bucky’s prosthetic arm had been removed. She and her people studied its features closely, taking interesting ideas from it to bolster their own prosthetic designs.

She had worked extensively on the neuro-attachments embedded in Bucky’s shoulder, chest, and back, as well as the implanted shoulder joint to which the old prosthetic had attached. She found herself working on those attachments, refining them so the arm would be more natural, and not a source of ongoing discomfort.

She confided in Ianto that the arm Hydra had given Bucky had likely pained him greatly, as the various neuro-implants often overcompensated, firing on every possible sensation in order that no mobility could be sacrificed. Ianto felt physically ill at the thought, and he could only be thankful that CIA Task Force Commander Michael Lampling was an idiot arsehole and had shot the thing off. He could also not forget that Bucky, even under the conditioning, had shielded him from Lampling’s attack, placing himself between Ianto and the source of the threat. 

It made certain choices much easier to make.

***

“So what we will do is use this device in order to soften the reactivity associated with the trigger words,” Shuri explained, holding up a device that looked suspiciously like an old Tetris console. 

Yes, Bucky knew what Tetris was, thank you very much.

“But it won’t get rid of the words?” he asked.

“No, that will be the second step,” she said, cutting her eyes to Ianto.

“Drakon?”

“With your permission, I’ll go in and pull out the programming,” Ianto said.

“How?” Bucky asked, not missing how Steve had straightened up.

Ianto frowned. He wasn’t sure how to explain it. “Well, it’s kind of how I go in and check on you, and you know when I’m close to where the words have been implanted as the trigger, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Shuri’s device will allow me to go in without too much discomfort for you, and I’ll sort of pull the words out, like you’d pull weeds from a garden.”

“Okay,” Bucky felt like he might be missing something.

“And what will it do to you?” Steve asked.

Ianto gave a grim smile that Bucky understood all too well. “It won’t be pleasant for either of us, I’m afraid.” He turned to Bucky. “But I’m pretty sure we can put you under for it, at least. It’ll just take some recovery time, on the back end. Mostly fatigue, based on what you’ve told us about your healing during the last year.”

“What’s the risk to you, Drakon?”

Ianto shrugged.

“You used up all of your reserves, not much more than a month ago,” Steve pointed out.

Ianto smiled at Steve. “And they were rebuilt, within a few days.” At Steve’s look of confusion, he explained. “They’re two separate things. My power restores itself fairly quickly. Channeling the power is what takes a lot from me, physically, and that’s what takes time to heal.”

“I thought you had an advanced healing factor,” Shuri said, frowning.

“I do, but even so, it can take a bit of time, to recover.”

“But physically, you’ll still heal fairly quickly,” Steve clarified and Ianto nodded.

“But what will this do to you, physically?” Bucky asked.

Ianto shrugged. “Not sure, other than it will definitely suck. We’ll only get one crack at this, so once we start, we can’t stop.”

“Will this put you in danger?” Bucky asked, concern written all over his features.

“I’ll be fine,” Ianto asserted, but Bucky didn’t miss the glances both Steve and Shuri gave the handler.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Bucky asked.

Ianto sighed. “When I healed you, I made it so you actually mended exceptionally well. You’ve healed over the trigger, so it will be… difficult to eradicate.”

“Difficult for me, or difficult for you?” Bucky asked.

“Me,” Ianto replied, knowing he couldn’t outright lie to Bucky. “But I’m up for the challenge.”

“But…”

“This is my decision,” Ianto said, the dragon that Bucky had always seen flexing its wings before allowing them to settle back.

Bucky sighed, knowing the drakon’s mind was made up. “Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet.

“We begin tomorrow,” Shuri announced. “You should get some rest.”

“Why? Sounds like I’ll be napping during all of this,” Bucky joked, causing Steve and Ianto to chuckle.

***

Steve spent the evening with Bucky, as Ianto had some calls to make. He had dinner via video conference with Natasha and Clint, just visiting, chatting, and enjoying their company. Then he had a call with Phil, wrapping up some loose ends and gossiping for a while. Then he called Matt Murdock, sending him an email and ensuring his affairs were in order.

“Just how risky is this procedure?” Matt asked.

“Are you asking as my attorney, or my friend?”

“Yes.”

Ianto snorted. “I am telling my attorney that this is not without risk, and I want to be sure everything is in order.”

“Okay, well then I can put your mind at ease, because everything is in good order.”

Ianto nodded, unwilling to speak.

“Ianto.”

“If it…” Ianto cleared his throat. “If it doesn’t go well, just let everyone know that this was my choice. I am going into it clear-eyed, and it’s my choice. This is a risk I’m willing to take.”

After a brief pause, Matt asked, “Are you worried?”

Ianto took a sip of the whisky that had next to no effect on him and thought for a moment. “You know, one time Jack and I were chasing a Weevil, and we thought it had gone back into the sewers.” He’d explained to Matt about Weevils, long ago.

“We thought we were done for the evening, and the old blood was up, if you will.”

“And?” Matt asked, his voice amused.

“The Weevil came back while we were decidedly indisposed,” Ianto chuckled, then ran a hand through his hair. “My greatest fear is causing harm. After that, I have this phobia of dying pointlessly with my arse hanging out.”

“Understandable,” Matt laughed.

Ianto joined in the laughter. “I’m not afraid of pain, though I’m not looking forward to it, either.”

“Also understandable,” Matt hesitated. “And this will be painful.” Not a question.

“It’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever faced, in terms of physical pain,” Ianto confessed. He had told no one of this, though he had given Shuri some general warnings.

“Some of the things you’ve told us, I think that’s saying something,” Matt replied quietly. He took a deep breath. “You can still back out.”

“No, I can’t,” Ianto replied, his voice strong and sure.

“It’s okay to be scared, Ianto,” Matt said.

“As soon as I saw the numbers from Shuri’s tests, I knew how this would have to go,” Ianto said. “And I’m not feeling any… urges to run from it, but…”

“You just want to get on with it,” Matt surmised.

Ianto nodded. “Funny, I thought it was Torchwood that would kill me. But I’m walking into this, willingly.”

“That’s a leap you’ve made, from ‘it’s not without risk’ to it’s going to kill you,” Matt leaned in to the screen. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing.” Ianto leaned back and rubbed his face. “Honestly, I don’t know how bad it’s going to be. But I have accepted that it might kill me.”

“Have you told anyone else this?”

Ianto shook his head.

“Shall I remind you that if you’re nodding or shaking your head, I can’t see it?” Matt asked, deliberately using an amused tone.

Ianto snorted. “No, I haven’t told anyone else.”

“Lucky me,” Matt snarked.

“You’re not my first call tonight, if that makes you feel better.”

“Why me, then?”

“Someone needs to know, just in case.”

“And since you mentioned your will, I’m bound by attorney-client privilege, if this all goes perfectly tomorrow.”

Ianto grinned. “Pretty much.”

“Piss off, Jones,” Matt chuckled, actually glad he could be there for his friend. “But why not say anything?”

“I don’t want my potential last words with my friends to be a fight over this. I’m doing it, and I don’t need someone trying to talk me out of it, like I’m a child.”

“Arguably, they wouldn’t be trying to talk you out of it because they think you’re a child, Ianto. It’d be because they care. Hell, I’d have a crack at it, if I thought it’d do any good.”

“Thank you for not,” Ianto said, his voice full of gratitude and fond friendship.

“Do you mind me asking…” Matt hesitated.

“What?”

“Why him?” Matt hesitated again before plowing ahead. “You’ve done an awful lot for him, already. Now you’re ready to die for him.”

“Shouldn’t someone be?”

“Fine, don’t tell me.” Matt didn’t even need to ‘see’ Ianto’s energy shift to recognize the deflection, no matter how truthful it might be, in the abstract.

“It’s that old adage, right?” Ianto said quickly, not wanting to fob off his friend. “If you _can_ help, shouldn’t you?”

“Is that all there is to it?” Matt knew it wasn’t. He just wondered if Ianto realized.

Ianto blew out a breath. “There’s only a handful of people that I’ve both read and healed. And as much as I may have loved any of them before I did that, now? Now I would do just about anything for them.”

Matt frowned. “And what if you healed someone truly terrible?”

Ianto shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Shit, Ianto.”

“I can say this,” Ianto added, after a moment. “Having read them, I know they’re all amazing, wonderful people. And I know it’s not rose-colored glasses, because in healing them, I’ve been in their minds and seen everything – the good and the bad. And the good has, so far, outweighed the bad.”

“So the question is, in that context, could the bad ever outweigh the good?” Matt asked, intrigued.

“No idea,” Ianto blew out a breath. “But there are people who I’ve picked up on, as an empath, that have caused a genuine recoil, so I am hopeful it’s not a matter of being misled by too deep an attachment.”

“You have good instincts, Ianto. And this isn’t really what you should be stressing about, right now.”

“No, but it’s a good distraction,” Ianto replied.

“You want me to stay on with you?” Matt asked.

“No, I’ll be okay. Thanks, though.”

“Get Steve to text me tomorrow, to let me know how it goes.”

Ianto nodded. “Okay.”

“Good luck, Ianto.”

“Thank you.”

***

True to his word, Ianto programmed a text to go to Steve at the end of the day, in case he wasn’t in a position to let Matt know how everything went. He had breakfast with Bucky and Steve, though he ate next to nothing. He did his best to behave normally, though he was nervous.

As they prepared for the procedure, he tried to settle his nerves, watching as Shuri anesthetized Bucky and then used the tech they had developed to soften each of the trigger words. Ianto had helped her map them out in Bucky’s mind, and now she knew precisely where each resided. Once she was done, she turned to Ianto.

He had done his best to prepare her. He had told her that channeling the power of the Mind Stone was hard on him, physically. High blood pressure that led to nosebleeds, migraines, and fatigue were all major symptoms. She insisted on giving him an anticoagulant, to reduce the risk of stroke. He pointed out it would make the nosebleeds worse, but she seemed unconcerned by that.

She lowered the table Bucky was lying on, and as Ianto sat on the stool at the head, she made some minor adjustments so he would be able to sit at a comfortable angle as he worked with Bucky. She hooked him up to a couple of unobtrusive leads, explaining that one was a heartrate monitor, one would keep track of his blood pressure, and a few others would record brain activity.

Only her brother picked up on her apprehension, but he didn’t understand it until Ianto turned to her and Steve.

“Once I start, please do not interrupt. No matter what.” He looked from Shuri to Steve. “I mean it.”

“Ianto?” Steve began to be suspicious.

“I’ve said before. We only have one crack at this. Don’t worry about me. I’ll heal. But if you stop this process before it’s done, the opportunity will be lost.” He looked at them again. “I am aware of the risks. I have discussed them, at length, with Shuri, and I accept them. Tell me you understand, and that you will not try to step in.”

“Ianto, wait,” Steve was beginning to worry, for the first time. “What risks?”

“Tell me you understand,” Ianto insisted, at the end of his tether. He really needed to get on with this, now.

Steve looked like he was caught somewhere between spooked and angry. “Yeah, okay. Got it.”

Ianto smiled, relieved. “Thank you.”

Steve turned to Shuri, who shook her head. She turned to Ianto. “Are you ready?”

Ianto took a deep breath, then placed his hands under Bucky’s head. Leaning over, he pressed his forehead to Bucky’s, then gently pushed into the sergeant’s mind. It took a few moments to connect with the unconscious mind. It should have been impossible, but no one had ever told Ianto that, so he kept pushing until he found the pathways he was looking for.

_Zhelaniye_

Longing. It took several minutes to uproot the word. Ianto tried not to worry, and he noted that he still felt pretty solid as he smoothed over the area.

_Prorzhavevshiy_

Rusted required a few minutes. Ianto briefly wondered what that meant. He healed the area and moved onto the next.

Semnadtsat'

Seventeen came loose with surprising ease. Ianto began breathing more deeply as the first wave of queasiness washed over him. He was vaguely pleased that he hadn’t had a large breakfast.

“Blood pressure is rising,” Shuri noted.

_Rassvet_

Daybreak took several minutes. Ianto began to wonder if perhaps the words Bucky most identified with, or had the most positive feelings towards, had deeper roots. He felt a wet stuffiness in his nose and began breathing through his mouth as a familiar trickle tickled his top lip.

_Pech'_

Furnace only took a few minutes, lending credence to Ianto’s hypothesis. As he internalized the word, he noticed his head begin to ache.

“Halfway there, Handler,” Shuri spoke up.

“Hang in there, Ianto,” Steve sounded concerned, but Ianto was confident he would not interfere.

_Devyat'_

Nine came loose right away, but the headache compounded more quickly than Ianto would have liked. He smoothed over the area and took another deep breath. He felt blood dripping from his chin and running down his neck, to his chest.

“Posterior nosebleed,” Shuri said, the concern in her voice evident. “I gave him an anticoagulant, so it will likely be severe. But I have blood supplies ready.”

_Dobrokachestvennyy_

Benign. Ianto was beginning to tire. He knew he still had plenty in reserve, but the word took several minutes to loosen. As it did, the headache suddenly blossomed into a migraine. He let out an involuntary moan.

“Ianto?” Steve sounded like he was barely holding himself back.

“s’fine,” he gritted, and gasped for breath before finding the next word.

V _ozvrashcheniye dom_ oy

Homecoming took a quarter of an hour. By the time it came loose, Ianto was gasping for breath, and he felt as though there were lightning bolts shooting down his left arm.

“He is suffering cardiac arrhythmia,” Shuri said, her tone becoming distressed.

“Ianto, it’s time to stop,” Steve said.

Ianto vaguely heard him approach, but then back up quickly as his wings (and yes, this time they were his own wings, attached to his own back) flared out in an horaltic pose, blocking them from coming any nearer.

T’Challa and Shuri gasped, but Steve cursed.

“Damn it, Ianto!”

_Odin_

He rushed on to the next word, one, hoping it could be easily uprooted. It was, coming loose right away, but Ianto was now gagging on the blood that was pouring out of his nose as well as down the back of his throat. 

He was embarrassed as he vomited onto the floor, but he didn’t stop, despite the continued protests. Couldn’t they be a bit more encouraging?

“Last word, Ianto. You can do this, just hang on, _please_ ,” Shuri called out.

Okay, that was more like it.

_Gruzovoy vagon_

Freight car. The last word. Well, technically, it was a phrase. But the point was, it was the last. It took a few minutes to pull loose, and Ianto breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled the trigger into himself – it and its fellows would just work their way through his system, now – and smoothed over the area in Sergeant Barnes’ mind. 

He was taking one last look around when he felt it. Every major muscle group locked up, and he fell off the stool, the loss of the connection to Bucky jarring even as he crashed to the floor and lost control of his bladder.

He didn’t have the awareness to be embarrassed by this, as it took several minutes for his body to work its way through the tonic and then clonic stages of the seizure. He could only tell that he had been turned on his side, to ride out the muscle contractions. But his left arm was killing him, and it felt like his dragon avatar had become real and was squatting on his chest. 

Except that it was nowhere to be seen, now. He vaguely wondered where it had run off to.

Shuri was injecting something, but he did not feel it as he gasped for breath and coughed up more of the blood that he had swallowed. He heard her scanner, and then Steve.

“What?”

“Aneurysm,” she replied shortly. “He…”

Ianto cried out as he experienced what he imagined it would be like to be hit in the back of the head by a sledgehammer.

“It has ruptured,” Shuri cried out. “He is having an hemorrhagic stroke.”

She pressed a panic button on her console and turned Ianto as he began to seize again. T’Challa and Steve stepped back as a medical team rushed in, along with a crash cart. 

“We have to get his blood pressure under control,” she said, keeping her calm as best she could.

Just then, another alarm they had quickly attached to Ianto went off.

“Cardiac arrest!” she shouted.

They worked frantically for several tense minutes, doing chest compressions, injecting adrenaline, and then shocking him in order to restart his heart. But even Steve could tell from the beeping monitor that it was beating too slowly. 

Shuri and her team quickly stripped him and used some sonic devices to clean him up before putting him on a monitoring table and covering him. She looked shattered as her team worked to sanitize the lab.

“What?” Steve was almost afraid to ask. The process had been almost sickening, to watch. Ianto had started off fine, but got visibly more ill, as he removed more of the triggering words.

“I have placed him in stasis,” she replied.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's been too long, so here's a nice, long chapter for you. Sorry for the minor cliff, but this is where it wanted to end.
> 
> Next up is healing the healer, and then some recovery time for both Bucky and Ianto.
> 
> Hope you like - let me know what you think! :)


	43. Chapter 43

“I need time to see if there is anything that can be done, but…” Shuri burst into tears.

T’Challa gathered his sister into his arms. “But?” he asked, gently.

“There is too much damage,” she sniffed, straightening away from her brother. She looked at Steve, who looked shocked. “His heart basically exploded. And his brain…” she sobbed. “The aneurysm and then the stroke…”

“He knew,” Steve sat down heavily. “He knew this would happen.”

“I think he did,” she nodded. “He said it would be bad, but…”

“Do not forget,” T’Challa admonished. “He also said that he accepted the risks.”

“This will kill Bucky,” Steve shook his head, full of grief and anger. “How could Ianto not realize that?”

“He does not seem to believe that people can hold him in high regard,” Shuri said quietly.

Steve knew she was right, and in this moment, he wanted to go find Ianto’s father and remove him from the face of the earth. He shook his head, to clear it of his murderous thoughts.

“Why couldn’t the triggers be left there, as long as no one knew the words?” he asked.

“Because there is no way of knowing how else the triggers were designed to be used. Some of the words were obscure, but others were not.” She hesitated. “And also, the way they were embedded was…” She hesitated. “Have you ever heard of an engine governor?”

Steve frowned. “Limits the speed an engine can achieve, right?”

She nodded. “The words were doing much the same thing to Sergeant Barnes’ personality.”

“He did seem subdued,” Steve nodded. “Like it was an effort to make a joke.”

“Or to laugh,” she said, her voice low. “I believe that is what made this an easy decision, for Ianto. They stole the sergeant’s laughter. When I told him,” she looked down, and her brows rose as she shook her head. “I have never seen such contained rage.”

“I think his experience with the Cybermen has made him intolerant of anyone manipulating or suppressing the emotions of others,” Steve nodded, remembering well how terrifying the Welshman’s rage could be.

“Understandable,” Shuri nodded.

“Is there nothing you can do?” T’Challa asked. “If he has an accelerated healing ability, is there not a way to keep his brain in stasis and allow his heart to heal?”

Shuri’s face fell as she was reminded once more of her friend’s condition. Because that is what he had become. Her friend, who was willing to actively participate in annoying her brother, simply because he knew it amused her.

That was a most endearing quality.

“I cannot parse out which systems go into stasis,” she shook her head.

“What has he done, now?” a new voice asked, sounding slightly exasperated.

They all whipped around, only to find two people in monks’ garb standing there. 

“Who are you?” T’Challa tapped one of the beads on his wrist. Within seconds, Okoye and several other members of the Dora Milaje entered the lab.

“She is called the Ancient One,” Steve smiled, hopeful. “She is Ianto’s teacher.”

“And _she_ was having a perfectly pleasant day, until Ianto’s dragon began writhing on the ground in front of her as she was trying to meditate,” the Ancient One snarked. “What has he done?” she asked again.

Okoye signaled to the others to hang back, but she strode forward. “How did you get in here?”

“She is the Sorcerer Supreme,” T’Challa said, looking at the Ancient One, who bowed her head to him in acknowledgement. “You do us great honor. Can you help?”

“I don’t know,” she frowned, turning back to Ianto. “He has a talent for allowing his magic to push his body too far.” She turned to Shuri. “Is he stable?”

“No,” Shuri said. “He is in stasis.” Her eyes welled with tears. “And if I take him out of stasis, he will die within a very short time.”

“Be calm, child, and tell me what he has done, to be in this state.”

Shuri pointed to the table where Bucky was now sleeping, and explained about the triggers Hydra had embedded in his mind. “We softened the triggers before he went in and… rooted them out.”

The Ancient One went over and touched Bucky’s head, closing her eyes. Opening them, she smiled and looked at Wong. “Come see,” she said.

He joined her and, mimicking her pose, peered into Bucky’s mind. Just as quickly, he withdrew his hand, looking at her, startled. “How?”

“How what?” Steve strode over to them.

“Sergeant Barnes currently has possession of Ianto’s telepathy,” the Ancient One said, amused. 

“We were told that he used the telepathy as the… metaphorical glue to hold Bucky’s mind together, as it mended,” Steve said.

“Just so,” the Ancient One gave Wong a small smile.

“And now he is mended and whole,” Wong said, before adding, “But he shouldn’t be.”

“What do you mean?” Shuri asked.

“The damage Hydra did should have been irreversible,” Wong replied.

“It is merely another piece of the puzzle,” the Ancient One said, thoughtful. “Most of this healing occurred before Ianto’s encounter with the Mind Stone. I believe this healing is what precipitated Jack putting him in touch with me, for training.”

“It is,” Steve confirmed. He looked at Wong. “So if Bucky’s mind was permanently damaged, how is he healed, now?” He turned to the Ancient One. “And what puzzle?”

“Sergeant Barnes is healed, simply because Ianto Jones did not know it was impossible,” the Ancient One answered with an enigmatic smile. “And the impact of the healing forced Ianto another step in his own evolution, which allowed him to survive his encounter with the Mind Stone.” She ran her hand along Bucky’s head, once more. “What he has done here is a work of art.”

Wong nodded. “It really is breathtaking.”

“He was already exceptionally powerful,” she continued. “Which is probably why the Mind Stone chose him.”

“Chose him,” Steve frowned. “For what?”

“When the world evolves to a point where it is ready for these energies, one appears who is able to wield them,” she explained.

“You call this, ‘able to wield them’?” Steve asked, gesturing vehemently to his friend, who was lying on a medical bed, only alive because he had been put into stasis before he could die.

“He’s still learning,” she said, her voice soothing. “He could have torn the triggers from Sergeant Barnes’ mind and left him a bit raw and wounded, though still able to heal. But that would likely have taken years, so Ianto chose to heal the damage as well as extract and absorb the triggers.” She walked over to Ianto and touched his head, again closing her eyes. When she opened them, she continued.

“Most likely, he could have avoided the cardiac arrest, and the stroke. But he doesn’t know how to pace himself.”

“Doesn’t know how to leave a job half-finished, more like,” Wong muttered.

“Yes, that is certainly part of the issue,” she smiled.

“Can you help him?” Steve asked.

“Perhaps,” she said, still looking down at the too-pale face of her student. “The question is, should I?”

“What?” Shuri looked appalled. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“He was very foolish, to undertake this,” the Ancient One said, her tone hard. “He knew it would break him, to do so.”

“In fairness, he couldn’t have _not_ helped Sergeant Barnes,” Wong pointed out.

“True,” she canted her head, conceding the point.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

She sighed. “Healers… become attached to those they heal,” she began.

“Not like some unhealthy fixation,” Wong quickly clarified.

“Certainly not,” she nodded. “It’s perfectly natural, actually. There is an intimacy, with this sort of healing.” She looked at Steve. “And it goes both ways.”

Steve nodded. “I loved him as a friend, before he healed me. I loved him as family, after.”

“Precisely,” she smiled. “But consider. Your healing was relatively superficial, compared to this,” she gestured to Bucky.

“He told us that he couldn’t _not_ care. That’s why he kept tabs on Bucky, all this time, to be sure he was okay.”

The Ancient One nodded. “So, given the magnitude of the original healing, Ianto’s experience of the Cybermen, and knowing he _could_ help Sergeant Barnes, I imagine the impulse to do so was irresistible.”

“But you just called it foolish,” Shuri challenged.

She shrugged. “It can be both.” She sighed. “Ianto must learn to distinguish between what _can_ be done and what _must_ be done.”

“Meaning?” Steve was beginning to have hope, since the Ancient One was speaking as though Ianto might be around, in order to learn these things.

“Today, for example. Removing the triggers from Sergeant Barnes’ mind was something in the ‘must be done’ category. But healing him entirely was in the ‘can be done’ category. Or I should amend that to say, ‘can be done, but at a very high cost’. Had he merely pulled the triggers from the sergeant’s mind, he would have been impacted, but it would have been nothing he couldn’t have healed from, on his own.”

“But Ianto chose to heal him, as well,” Wong said, looking thoughtful. “Why?”

“He has seen too much suffering. And he has suffered too much, himself. He cannot stand to see another in pain, particularly someone he feels so deeply connected to,” she answered. “But he must inure himself to the suffering of others, at least to some extent, or he will not survive.”

She continued to stare at him, deep in thought. “I should point out that the use of the power of the Mind Stone for healing is… _singular_.”

“How so?” Steve asked.

“Those energies are normally cold, and calculating. After all, their natural bent resulted in the creation of Ultron. But In Ianto’s hands, they have become warm, and compassionate. Kind, even. Perhaps it is an evolution of those energies, as well. They are certainly being used in a way they’ve never been used, before.”

“Is that unnatural, for those energies?” Shuri asked, concerned about the danger inherent in forcing something to be other than it is.

“The energies simply are,” the Ancient One answered. “Ultron was the result of their entropic tendencies. But otherwise, they are limited only by the imagination of the one wielding them. It is just that most who would wield the Mind Stone would not default to using those energies for healing and protection.”

“Then again, perhaps that’s why Ianto was chosen,” Wong speculated.

“Yes. It is as though the energies wished to evolve, as well. Experience a new way of being utilized. It is rather beautiful, when one considers it.” She frowned. “But Ianto must learn to find balance. He has chosen to use the energies to heal and protect, but he must be more prudent. He has an unfortunate tendency to simply throw himself into danger, without considering the consequences.”

“Oh, I think he considers them,” Steve huffed. “And then he disregards them, anyway. He’d rather suffer than allow anyone else to.”

The Ancient One nodded. “Yes, he must work on that. He is lucky he found me today, but I may not always be available, to help.”

“But you _will_ help?” Shuri asked.

“He is quite young,” the Ancient One looked at him again, something akin to fondness breaking past the neutrality of her expression. “I suppose he should be forgiven for being foolish, until he can learn otherwise.”

She and Wong stood on either side of the table, and she instructed Shuri to bring Ianto out of stasis. “You clear up the excess blood,” she instructed Wong. “The constrictions will have eased, now. I will rebuild what has been ruined.”

They worked for some time, and Shuri watched on the monitors as the blood that had pooled in Ianto’s cranium dissipated. Blood vessels mended themselves, and his heart was soon healed, its beat more strong and steady as Shuri brought in a supply of blood and started an IV.

The Ancient One turned back to Steve and Shuri. “His reserves have been depleted again, and his healing will likely be sluggish, due to the magnitude of the damage he suffered, and the volume of energy it will take to transmute the triggers he absorbed. It will likely take some weeks for him to fully recover.”

She looked at Ianto, then at Bucky. “And it would probably be best not to tell Sergeant Barnes about this, until his own recovery is underway. He has some grieving to do, and this might distract him in a way that would allow him to avoid his grief. That would be… unfortunate.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Shuri nodded.

“We could just say that healing always depletes Ianto’s reserves. They can recover together,” Steve and Shuri shared a conspiratorial smile.

Wong huffed, and the Ancient One shook her head, amused at their antics. 

“Question,” Steve said, as it seemed they were preparing to depart.

“Yes?”

“When his heart began acting up, he…” Steve frowned. “Normally, the dragon is separate from him. But when we tried to get close to him, he… All of a sudden, he had wings of his own. But they were the dragon’s wings.”

“Ah,” the Ancient One smiled. “Another evolution.” At their curious looks, she said, “The avatar as a separate entity can be useful, but having the attributes of the avatar as an extension of one’s own body can be more versatile. He has learned this, now, and he will be able to utilize either, as needed.” She looked at Steve. “And when the wings disappeared, I would assume that is when the avatar came to find me.”

“They disappeared, just as he finished,” Steve said absently, and she nodded.

The Ancient One looked at Steve. “I shall return to New York in August. Tell Ianto I expect him to return to our training, as soon as he has regained his strength. There is much to work on.”

“I’ll give him your message,” Steve assured her. “Thank you for helping him.”

She nodded, and Wong gave a smile as they opened some sort of portal and stepped through.

***

It took two days for Bucky to come around. He was groggy and fatigued, but the first thing he did when he saw Steve at his bedside was smile. It was an easy, gentle smile, but it was as natural as breathing, and his smile broadened when he realized he wasn’t forcing the expression.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said, looking relieved, but also tired. “How’re you feeling?”

“I feel…” Bucky took a deep breath, and a moment to check in, “… good,” his eyes widened. “Stevie,” he sat up, excited. “I feel… _real_.”

“Real?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. I mean, since I escaped, I’ve felt pretty okay,” he said. “Glad to be free, and relieved, and slowly healing, but also kind of… not entirely _here_ , if that makes sense.”

“That is a very good description,” Shuri said, taking a moment to explain the effect of the trigger on Bucky’s mind and personality.

“So it was kind of like a muzzle?” Bucky asked, his eyes wide.

“Yes,” she nodded, hating the accuracy of the description.

“Why didn’t you say?”

She shrugged. “No point in telling you, if we failed to remove the trigger.”

“I would have noticed, I think.”

“Did you, in the last year and a half?” she asked, not to challenge him, but because she was curious.

Bucky shook his head. “I guess I just figured there had been too much… damage. That the heaviness was because of so many years of…” he trailed off.

“But the heaviness is gone?” Steve asked.

“It is.” Bucky smiled again. It wasn’t his old smile, the wide, unguarded, joyful grin that Steve had grown up with. It was mature, maybe a bit wistful, and vulnerable. But it was also easy and natural. 

It was beautiful.

“And that’s not just a sense of relief, that the trigger is gone?” Shuri asked.

“Is it?” he asked. “I mean, you’re kind of talking like it is, but is it gone? Really?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve smiled, but it was strained, and because Bucky remembered Steve, now, he knew that his friend was having a conflicted moment.

“What?” He looked around. “Where’s Ianto?” He didn’t miss the glance that passed between Steve and Shuri, and he felt a panic begin to rise, inside. “Where’s moy drakon?”[1]

“He’s here,” Steve rushed to assure him, not understanding the Russian but recognizing the name Bucky had been calling Ianto. He recognized Bucky’s fear and wished to allay it. 

“There are things he did not share with you, before the healing,” Shuri added.

“Where is he?” Bucky’s panic was not subsiding. He needed to see Ianto. “Is he hurt?”

“He’ll be all right, Buck,” Steve said, putting a hand on Bucky’s good shoulder, hoping to ground and calm him. “But healing takes a lot out of him. Even smaller healings can give him a nosebleed.”

“I _knew_ it,” Bucky hissed. He had smelt blood, that day in Berlin, when he had almost strangled Ianto. The younger man had been quick to assure him that everything was fine, but the soldier had too much blood on his hands, not to recognize the scent of it, in the air.

“Something you should know about Ianto,” Steve said, still trying to soothe his friend. “He works way too hard to protect everyone but himself.”

Bucky nodded. This he already knew, somehow. “He said it would be hard on him, physically. What happened?”

“He tapped out his power reserves,” Steve said, looking to Shuri. It wasn’t a lie.

“It will take some time for him to recover,” she added. “But then again, so will you,” she smiled. “He is still out, but he is resting comfortably.”

“He may sleep for days,” Steve put in. “He did, after Novi Grad.”

That distracted Bucky for a few moments as Steve described what had happened when the Sokovian city was launched into the sky.

Bucky had seen the dragon. He had also seen the tree. He was fascinated to know about them, and hoped he could get Ianto to tell him more. But for now, he was still feeling a sickly sort of dread that Ianto had done himself some sort of harm, in order to help Bucky.

“Can I sit with him?” Bucky asked.

***

[1] My dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been pointed out that my description of the last chapter's ending as a 'minor cliff' was a bit of an understatement. So here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I felt weird bringing in the Ancient One again, but her fond exasperation with Ianto was fun to explore. She was _really_ annoyed with him, until she saw what he'd done, and how bad off he was.
> 
> And Bucky gave a bit of a slip there too, didn't he? The next couple of chapters will show the two dance around one another, as they recover. 
> 
> Thanks for reading - let me know what you think! :)


	44. Chapter 44

Steve explained to Shuri how the open plan of the medical facility in the Avengers Tower had overwhelmed Ianto when his defenses were down, so she moved him from her lab to a smaller recovery room kitted with monitoring equipment to keep them apprised of how he was faring.

He was still hovering somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness, the only benefit to his state being that he was not dreaming, and therefore not having nightmares.

Steve decided he also needed to explain about the nightmares, and Ianto’s tendency to project them when his defenses were down. Shuri decided to try out some bio-dampers she had created for a different purpose. She installed them in the room, and wondered how they would know whether they were working, or if Ianto was simply not dreaming.

What was unexpected (and yet not) was that Bucky insisted on sitting with Ianto, waiting for the younger man to waken. To appease him (and ensure he rested), they moved a second bed into the recovery room, the day after Bucky woke up. He didn’t do much besides sleep for a day or two, but he began to regain his strength fairly quickly.

Bucky had found the library the second day after he woke, but had been too exhausted to make his way back to the lab on his own, and sat with a book while he waited for someone to find him. Eventually Steve did (to be fair, it took less than an hour), and he helped his friend return to his bed.

It was well past midnight on the fourth day following the procedure, and Bucky was sitting on his bed, watching the younger man sleep. He knew Ianto was beginning to recover, because his sleep had begun to seem a bit more natural and a bit less like unconsciousness.

As Bucky sat there, finishing the glass of water he’d sat up to enjoy, something began to appear before him. Thankfully, Steve had warned him that Ianto might begin projecting his dreams. What he hadn’t warned him of was the sheer volume of material Ianto Jones had, to fuel his nightmares.

First was a man who may have once been handsome, but was now a wreck, his features ruined by his excesses.

“Oh, you think you’re a man, now?” he growled, repeatedly punching a _child_. “You’re. _Nothing._ You. Useless. Waste. Of. Space!”

Bucky watched, horrified as he realized the boy was Ianto. As that memory faded, another began. Hallways of what could only be a mental institution, its inmates coming too close and talking too loudly and saying too much. At the end of the hall, there was a room where a woman lay strapped to the bed, alternating between unresponsiveness and shrill screams.

That same woman, lying naked in a bathtub full of bloody water. 

Another woman, younger, screaming that the boy (a bit older, now) was _nothing_ , that it was his fault that tad was in prison and mam was dead.

It had all happened so fast, and Bucky was so shocked, it took until that image faded to look at Ianto’s sleeping form. He was frowning, but did not seem to be in distress. Bucky debated trying to wake him, but decided to let him sleep, as he seemed to settle down, now.

A while later, it started again. Bucky got up and sat on the bed, holding Ianto’s hand as the next bit began to play out.

A sphere suspended in an otherwise empty room, completely devoid of existence, other than the dread being projected by the younger version of Ianto standing beneath it, before he blacked out.

The tower burning.

“ _Exterminate!_ ”

“ _Delete!_ ”

A conversion unit, knives descending until a Dalek intervened. Then an unholy wind that swept everything away as he searched for his beloved Lisa.

The images came in quick, almost dizzying succession, as though it was old ground oft trodden. The Japanese scientist groping metal clad breasts as though she were a _thing_. A breath of hope as Lisa was saved, once more able to breathe on her own. Hope dashed at the sight of the Japanese scientist after the failed conversion. 

Lisa, now clearly lost, trying to kill everyone, but Ianto unable to let go. The one called Jack using a dinosaur to try to kill her, then ordering Ianto to execute her. Annie’s horrible fate, and the execution of the Cyberman. 

The cleanup, and watching what was left of Lisa incinerated.

Cannibals.

Bucky checked on Ianto again, but it seemed as though these memories were flitting by, without their usual emotional impact. He ran his hand through Ianto’s hair, telling him he was safe. That he was not alone. 

He took Ianto’s hand once more and watched in quiet indignation as the strong man he had come to know and respect was degraded and taken for granted, used as a sex object and then informed of that hard truth. 

_Part-time shag_. 

Bucky decided he didn’t much like Owen Harper, and he almost smirked when Ianto’s memory of shooting the man floated by.

He watched a demon come to life, and felt the heartbreak at the death of someone Ianto loved, even as that love was not returned. Then a resurrection. And a kiss to kindle hope before an abandonment that was devastating.

Standing, wrists manacled with chains secured to hooks in the ceiling as a madman shouted, “Who does he _really_ love?”

Everything went black before that dream unfolded, almost as though it had been suppressed. Bucky leaned over and ran his hand through Ianto’s hair again as he whispered words of comfort. Soon the images began again.

Hope rekindled with, “I came back for you,” and crushed with the added, “all of you.”

Bucky sensed a theme.

A succession of aliens and monsters that would terrify the most stalwart had Bucky gasping and gripping Ianto’s hand. He looked, and Ianto’s face was almost serene, and Bucky marveled at the courage it took to face what Ianto would have considered merely ‘all in a day’s work’.

The death of a friend – for that’s what Owen Harper had become, much to everyone’s surprise. And then his imperfect resurrection. Then his final destruction, along with the death of Ianto’s truest friend.

More aliens, more Daleks. And then the final insult as another betrayal was revealed. 

Bucky was surprised that when Ianto finally let out a whimper, it was at the destruction of his mother’s stoneware serving bowl. He reached out and ran his hand through Ianto’s hair once again, whispering something he hoped was soothing.

In retrospect, Bucky was glad that SHIELD had fueled fewer nightmares, for Ianto. The only thing that had rated was being stabbed by Loki. Bucky gripped Ianto’s hand again as he watched the younger man step between the nasty looking scepter and Coulson. He winced as the blade sank into Ianto’s torso, but what came next was entirely unexpected.

As Ianto grasped the stone, Bucky felt as though his head would explode as he watched universes unfold and refold and expand and contract, and then he realized he was seeing into the mind of every living thing in all of those universes.

He may have fainted, after that.

When Bucky came to, it was because a curious dragon was nudging him with its snout. He sat up slowly, knowing that Ianto would be sharing no more nightmares. He had apparently recovered enough that his avatar was once more visible.

Bucky barely noticed that he was leaning against the dragon as he stood and made his way back to his own bed. As he lay down, he noticed something blue moving through the room, but he experienced such a profound feeling of peace that he merely muttered, “Sleep well, Drakon,” before surrendering to sleep.

***

Steve entered the recovery room a few hours later and smiled. Ianto’s dragon avatar was curled up like a cat at the foot of his bed, and the trunk of Ianto’s tree could be seen, in the far corner. Bucky was sleeping soundly, wrapped in one of the intricately knotted branches, the silvery blue leaves blanketing him.

***

Ianto slept on. It had been four and a half days. The dragon and the tree had appeared, about twelve hours before, but Bucky didn’t let on that he could see them. It felt too personal, though he could not say why, because he knew that Steve could see them, as well as T’Challa, Shuri, and Okoye. No one else could, though.

And while they could see them – he had even seen Shuri reach out to touch one of the branches, though she couldn’t – Bucky could also _feel_ them. Not just in the sense of touching, as Shuri had attempted. No, he could feel the comfort radiating from them, and the safety they afforded. And he knew they would protect him from any threat that might arise.

***

Bucky woke from a nap late in the afternoon, smiling at the silvery blue leaves that brushed along his body. They were whispers, dancing along his skin that moved as he did, ebbing as he flowed from lying flat to padding over to Ianto’s bed.

It was a familiar routine. Bucky would wake and go sit or stand by Ianto’s bed, depending on how well-rested he felt. There he would stay, watching over the handsome drakon until Steve or one of the others appeared.

The day before, Steve had stood beside Bucky, looking down at his friend. “You like him,” he said quietly.

“I owe him a lot,” Bucky said, his voice neutral and his thoughts guarded.

“You know it’s okay, if you do,” Steve said, putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

And this was how Bucky learned that his oldest friend truly did know everything about him, and was okay with it all. His unconditional acceptance had brought tears to Bucky’s eyes. They talked for a while about how much things had changed from when they’d been kids, but slowly they worked their way back around to the man they were watching over.

“He’s beautiful,” Bucky admitted, as though admitting this was revealing the greatest secret he’d ever kept close to his heart. And perhaps it was.

“He is,” Steve agreed, and shrugged when Bucky glanced at him, surprised. “He knows what it’s like, to lose. So if you mean anything to him, you’re left in no doubt of it.” He paused, searching for the right words. “He loves his friends with everything in him. It’s…”

“Terrifying?” Bucky asked, his lip quirking to show he didn’t mean it.

“Humbling,” Steve answered, ignoring Bucky’s deflection.

“This where you give me a shovel talk?” Bucky asked.

“No,” Steve shook his head, then turned to look Bucky in the eye. “Because I think you already know he’s someone to be cherished. If you’re just looking to get laid, or get back in the game…”

“I’m not,” Bucky said, almost too quickly. 

“Or is it because he helped free you?” Steve knew he had to ask, before this could be allowed to progress.

“I…” Bucky ran his hand through his hair. “I know him, Stevie. I don’t know how, but… I _know_ him. And…” How to say he craved any connection he could get with this man, whom he knew in his bones was good and kind and intelligent and funny and…

“It went both ways,” Steve muttered as realization dawned.

“What?” Bucky looked at Steve, startled from his list.

“When he healed you, he was in your mind. But I think maybe you were in his, as well.”

“It was like I was trapped behind a wall,” Bucky whispered, remembering those terrible decades of being a prisoner within his own mind. “And then the wall was gone, but it was… chaos. And I ran, because it hurt, _so much_.”

Steve gripped Bucky’s shoulder again, grounding and comforting him.

“It was like my mind had become molten lava, all fiery sludge and sharp edges. So… _broken_. And then I felt him with me. Calming everything, cooling the flames, comforting. God, Steve! It was like…” he shook his head, unable to come up with any metaphor profound enough to describe what it had felt like, when Ianto had chased after him, that day.

“He healed you,” Steve nodded. “He gave you your life back.”

Bucky sniffed, holding back the tears. He nodded. “He gave me _myself_ back.” He looked at Steve, his eyes showing trepidation. “What if this is just because of gratitude?”

Steve snorted. “He’s healed plenty of us, now. And I’ll admit, it does deepen the connection, make the friendships closer. But Bucky?” he looked his friend in the eye and grinned. “None of us has ended up looking at him like he’s an ice cream cone on the hottest day of the year.”

Bucky actually blushed, and Steve knew this was more than mere gratitude. “Didn’t,” he muttered.

“Chocolate chip,” Steve chuckled, even as Bucky elbowed him, telling him to can it.

***

Ianto woke slowly, trying to breathe through the soreness in his body and the pounding in his head. He huffed out a breath as he tried to move, then gave it up as a bad idea. He lay still, trying to take stock. He was lying on his left side, apparently draped over a body pillow that was meant to make him more comfortable but was decidedly not fulfilling its duty.

He opened his eyes, only to regret the decision as the light lanced through his head painfully. He groaned.

Except that he didn’t. It came out as a strange, huffed exhalation.

His eyesight was bleary, but he could see something quite lovely come into his field of view. Well, it felt lovely, anyway. Apparently, he couldn’t properly see.

What the hell happened?

“Are you back with us, Drakon?”

Oh.

_Oh._

It all came flooding back. The healing. And then something had short-circuited, because he couldn’t remember beyond that, other than it had sucked even more than he had anticipated.

He tried to speak, but found that he had no voice.

“It’s all right,” Bucky was holding his hand. He startled slightly when he heard Bucky’s voice in his mind. _Can you speak this way, do you think?_

Ianto closed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts. _How… How long have I been out?_

“Six days,” Bucky didn’t want to chance hurting Ianto by using telepathy. He thought he had the volume/intensity thing worked out, but he didn’t want to take a chance.

Shuri and Steve were with them in the next moment. “He can’t speak,” Bucky told Shuri as she looked at the readouts from the table that had been continuously scanning Ianto.

“I am not surprised,” she responded, her voice calm. “Don’t worry, Ianto. You will recover, but it will take a bit of time.”

“Does he remember anything?” Steve asked, guessing Bucky had already been speaking with Ianto telepathically.

Ianto squeezed Bucky’s hand. _I remember pulling the words from your mind, and then a lot of pain when it was done. During, too, but it seemed to crest just after I finished._

Bucky relayed his words to the others. 

After a few moments of general questions and relayed answers, Shuri finished with her diagnostics.

“Sergeant Barnes, I believe you are due for your next fitting, and I need to examine my patient a bit more closely.”

Ianto felt as much as saw Bucky’s face fall. It was heartening, that he wanted to stay with Ianto. He smiled. _Fitting? Getting a new frock?_

“A new arm, you goof,” Bucky chuckled. He squeezed Ianto’s hand before reluctantly releasing it and heading to the prosthetics lab.

“Okay, we’ll have to be creative,” Shuri said. She nodded to Steve. “Take his hand. Ianto, squeeze once for ‘yes’, and twice for ‘no’. Okay?”

Ianto contemplated squeezing twice, just to mess with them, but he needed to know what had happened. He was sorry they had sent Bucky away, but he realized they wanted to tell him what had happened without disturbing Bucky unduly. He squeezed Steve’s hand one time.

“Okay, so I’ll walk you back through the healing.” She described when the nosebleed began, when the headache started, when it escalated, when the nosebleed started getting out of hand, when the cardiac arrhythmia began. He squeezed Steve’s hand once when she asked if he remembered that.

Then she described the seizures, the aneurysm, which burst, causing a stroke. “That is likely why you cannot speak,” she added. Then she described the cardiac arrest, and the measures they had taken in order to stabilize him enough to put him in stasis.

“We cracked several ribs, doing chest compressions. We had to shock your heart, to restart it. I imagine you are experiencing a great deal of discomfort, at the moment.”

Ianto squeezed Steve’s hand.

Shuri nodded. “I will not withhold pain relief, though I am sorely tempted. I am very cross with you, Ianto. Particularly if you knew that this would happen.”

Ianto squeezed Steve’s hand twice. And then twice more.

“I spoke with Matt,” Steve said. “Told him you were still with us. He told me that you didn’t know how bad it would be, but had accepted the possibility that it might kill you.”

Ianto squeezed his hand once.

“I wish you’d said something. I mean, he explained why you didn’t. You didn’t want to fight with us. But I wish you hadn’t gone into that so alone, Ianto.”

Ianto wasn’t certain how to express what he wanted to say to Steve. He squeezed his hand, once.

“You may squeeze his hand three times to say, ‘I am sorry for being so bloody-minded and scaring you all so much, and I promise never to do such a foolish thing, again’,” Shuri prompted.

Ianto snorted softly and squeezed Steve’s hand three times.

They went on to explain their special visitors and the Ancient One’s instructions with regards to the need to keep the full extent of the damage Ianto had suffered from Bucky, at least for the time being, as well as Ianto’s likely need for several weeks of recovery time. Steve also told Ianto what she had said about his need to find balance in exerting his healing power, and her instruction for him to return to her for more training, later in the summer.

Bucky’s fitting only took about twenty minutes. By the time he returned, Ianto was asleep again, exhausted by the volume of information he had taken in.

“He is already showing great improvement,” Shuri told him, and Steve smiled as Bucky headed for his own bed. He’d been forced to pace himself since the healing, spending most of his time sleeping, or resting quietly as he and Steve renewed their friendship.

He cast one last look at Ianto, who looked like he was sleeping more peacefully (not realizing that Shuri had given him something for the pain). Satisfied that the drakon was comfortable, he closed his eyes and slept, as well.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am pleased with this and the next two chapters. Of course, I haven't proofed the next two chapters yet, so grain of salt, and all that. But I enjoyed how the talk went, between Steve and Bucky.
> 
> And Bucky is crushing _hard_ , right? Don't worry. Once Ianto wakes up, you'll see that he is, too. I hope.
> 
> Hope you're enjoying this. I've had to quit reading Jack/Ianto fan fiction (cold turkey - I'm getting the shakes!), for the moment, because Jack kept cock-blocking poor Bucky, in this story. That's why it stalled a tiny bit, last week. Haha
> 
> I'm not sure, but this fic may carry through to a revised Endgame scenario... We'll see if I can manage that, though I can tell you right now there won't be 5 years between the snap and Endgame, if I do.


	45. Chapter 45

Steve was called back to New York the day after Ianto woke. He’d been summoned before the OIG’s investigating panel. Ianto had been summoned as well, but Shuri was able to stall them, giving some vague medical reasons for Ianto being unable to travel and unavailable for any sort of video deposition. 

It took several days for Ianto to regain enough strength to walk further than the shower or the toilet, but by the end of the week, he and Bucky were taking walks near the palace complex. The Wakandans were kind and attentive, but mostly left them to their own devices, knowing they were both still recovering from some ordeal.

Shuri had given Ianto a walking stick, but he couldn’t seem to get the hang of it, so he usually ended up carrying it and leaning on Bucky’s arm. Neither man objected to this, though Ianto was embarrassed by his lack of coordination. 

Bucky couldn’t quite put his finger on the reason why, but he was fairly certain that they were lying to him about Ianto’s condition. He was clearly recovering, but Bucky couldn’t figure out what had happened to leave him in such a state. It seemed like more than simple fatigue or weakness, but the symptoms pointed to multiple maladies, each as unlikely as the next.

He had confronted Ianto about it while they were out on one of their walks, but the conversation had veered in an unexpected direction.

“This is more than just fatigue, isn’t it?”

Ianto stopped to catch his breath, and Bucky stopped with him, making sure the younger man was steady on his feet. Ianto had wrapped his hand around Bucky’s forearm, leaning into him slightly, for support. Bucky welcomed the contact, being careful to ensure he kept his own balance. 

His center of gravity had gone strange, with the loss of the heavy prosthetic. He was looking forward to the new one being ready, and wondered how long it would take him to regain his balance. The new arm was more natural, less bulky, and he knew it would take some time to adjust to it. Shuri had a few more tweaks she wanted to make to the design, before it could be fitted. He found himself nervous and excited and more grateful than he could ever express.

He had tried to tell T’Challa that he owed Bucky nothing, and that replacing the arm was more than he deserved or could ever repay. But T’Challa insisted that had he not interfered, Bucky would still have a functioning prosthetic, so the least he could do was allow his sister to show off.

That was one of the things Bucky liked about T’Challa and Shuri. And Ianto, of course. (And Steve, before he left.) Even the most serious conversation could be lightened with a bit of humor, and it was refreshing to be able to laugh. He actually suspected that they did this on purpose at times, trying to make up for the years that laughter had been absent.

But he also found that things could hit him funny, and at the strangest times. His heart felt full and he loved them dearly for taking such good care of him. But then the love would trigger deep wells of grief, and it was all he could do, to curl up on the bed in the recovery room he still shared with Ianto, and weep.

The Welshman always seemed to know whether to leave him to his grief or to help him bear it. He knew Ianto was an empath, but it was striking, nonetheless. Ianto would pretend to sleep, if it was a moment Bucky needed to himself. If Bucky needed grounding or comfort, then Ianto would shuffle across the floor and sit beside him.

Sometimes he would sit in the chair and hold Bucky’s hand. Sometimes he would sit on the bed, and do the same. Sometimes he recited poetry telepathically, sometimes he merely sat vigil, offering silent comfort and support. One night, when Bucky felt so desolate that he feared losing himself in his guilt and grief, Ianto sat at the head of the bed with his back to the wall and pulled Bucky’s head into his lap, carding his fingers through his hair and crooning Welsh lullabies to him, in his head.

Bucky had returned the favor, offering comfort as the younger man seemed plagued by nightmares. He had told Bucky that they were always worse when he was ill or fatigued. Bucky hadn’t told him that he had witnessed a good number of them, before Ianto had regained enough strength for his dragon avatar to keep them shielded. He knew he would have to, but he didn’t want to make Ianto feel self-conscious about them.

He watched Ianto as he looked at him, considering his question. Then he shrugged. _Yes, it is_.

Bucky blinked. He hadn’t expected such a straightforward answer. He smirked as Ianto huffed out a silent laugh.

_You thought I’d lie?_

“The thought had occurred,” Bucky replied. 

_If I promise to tell you soon, would you be willing to wait?_

“But why?” Bucky frowned. “You’ve already told me it’s more, why wait to tell me the rest?”

_Are you willing to acknowledge that once I’ve healed, I’ll be fine?_

”Shuri keeps saying you will be,” Bucky said. He didn’t add how it unnerved him to see his strong drakon weak and speechless. He blinked and shook his head when he realized he had taken to calling Ianto _his_ drakon.

_Well, I will. But details will just distract you, right now._

“Distract me?” Bucky frowned again. “From what?”

_Well, you’re healing as well, aren’t you?_

Bucky let out a huff of his own. “I suppose. But that just means that whatever it is will upset me.”

_Perhaps._

“Don’t you think that alone is enough to upset and distract me?” Bucky tried to hide the smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Ianto wasn’t fooled though, and he chuckled silently. _No, because you’re a grownup._

Bucky got the distinct impression that Ianto had not always dealt with grownups, and he was pleased with the change of pace. They began walking again, enjoying the warm weather. Bucky was pleased that they had walked a bit further, each time they ventured out, and Ianto was taking longer on each walk before leaning into him more for support than balance.

He was getting stronger. Soon he would walk without his strong hand wrapped around Bucky’s forearm, those elegant fingers pressing just so, when he wanted Bucky’s attention, or to make a point if he was speaking telepathically.

Bucky would miss that.

But he was glad Ianto was gaining strength. He looked over at the younger man, whom Shuri had insisted on slathering with sunblock before wrapping him in a head scarf and putting sunglasses on him. He grinned.

 _What?_ Ianto’s tone in Bucky’s head was suspicious.

“Just occurs to me that you’re a walking stereotype for the Welsh complexion,” he smiled.

_Well. I am Welsh, as it happens._

Bucky hummed in agreement. He knew he was the one being stereotypical now, but he couldn’t help but enjoy the hell out of that accent.

 _Penny for them._ Now Ianto’s tone was amused.

Bucky almost tripped. He scrambled for something to say that wasn’t… whatever. He grasped at the next thing on his list of things to ask Ianto.

Yes, he had a list.

Shut up, Steve.

He shook his head to clear it of the smirk he’d last seen on Steve’s face when Bucky had denied being interested in Ianto one too many times.

“I was wondering,” Bucky said, hoping is voice sounded neutral. “You don’t call me Bucky. It’s always just ‘Sergeant’.”

Ianto hesitated again, and then used his walking stick to point at a bench in the shade. It was a quiet area of one of the gardens. Peaceful and beautiful. Ianto sought it out whenever he was the one to choose where they’d walk. 

They took turns, see.

Bucky told the Steve in his head to shut up, again.

As they sat, Ianto made sure to sit on Bucky’s left. It was just one more thing to endear the Welshman to him. He was making a point of protecting Bucky’s weak side. But because of that, it was more difficult to keep contact, to continue their conversation. Bucky noticed the blush slowly creep onto Ianto’s cheeks as he pressed their thighs together and put his hand on Bucky’s knee.

_This all right?_

Bucky nodded. He realized that he also loved that Ianto asked permission before touching him, or checked to be sure Bucky was okay with any contact he made. He seemed to understand that after so many years of Bucky’s body not being his own, he needed to have a say in how it was used, treated, and touched.

_You know I’m an empath, yes?_

Bucky nodded. They had discussed it.

_Well, I guess I should start by saying that I can’t help what I pick up. I try to block as much as I can, but so much of what I am sensitive to is just kind of… there. Like those flowers. You can’t help but notice that they’re purple, yes?_

Bucky nodded again. “You don’t have to apologize.”

 _I know, and I’m grateful. But I also understand that it can be an invasion. You don’t necessarily want me to know that I…_ Ianto sighed.

“You…”

 _I feel this little cringe you make, when someone calls you Bucky. Particularly Steve._ Ianto looked at Bucky to gauge how this had gone over, and pressed ahead. _You may not even realize you’re doing it. But I just figured that if you’re feeling conflicted about your nickname, maybe you should have some say in what I call you._

Bucky looked at Ianto, and then away. He felt tears welling up, and Ianto gave his thigh a squeeze, giving him a moment. He moved his hand, but Bucky caught it. “Don’t,” he said, then saw Ianto’s eyes widen slightly. He cleared his throat. “I mean, please don’t pull away, right now.”

Ianto gave that pretty little smile that made Bucky think he had a secret. _Wasn’t going to._

Bucky released Ianto’s hand, and the younger man reached out and ran his hand down the back of Bucky’s head, pulling him into an embrace. Bucky collapsed against him, suddenly unable to control the sobs racking his body. Somehow the head scarf fell away, and Bucky’s face was buried in the curve of Ianto’s neck.

They sat like this for an age, and when Bucky straightened, Ianto offered him the head scarf to blow his nose. He did so with a chuckle. “Shuri will smack me, for this.”

Ianto just gave a gentle smile, and Bucky knew that he needed to explain.

“Bucky…” Bucky sniffed even as more tears began to fall. “I feel like Bucky died, when he fell from that train.” He sobbed again, and leaned into the gentle hand stroking his spine soothingly. “Steve doesn’t want to see that his friend died, and all that’s left is a m-monster,” he sniffed again.

_If a monster were all that was left, you wouldn’t be so wrecked. You need to forgive yourself. You’re a good man._

Bucky snorted.

Ianto’s right hand gripped the back of Bucky’s neck, and his left hand reached up to cup Bucky’s cheek, turning his head. Bucky saw that at some point, Ianto had taken off the sunglasses. His breath caught at the intense expression smoldering in those beautiful blue eyes.

 _You forget, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, that I have been in that beautiful mind of yours. I know from whence I speak. And believe me, I know monsters. I…_ He looked uncertain, all of a sudden. _I think you know that, somehow. So I know monsters, and I know you. And you are not a monster._

“Promise?” Bucky begged, hating how like a child he sounded.

 _Promise._ Ianto leaned forward and kissed Bucky’s forehead. 

It felt like a blessing.

They spent hours on that bench, Bucky grieving and Ianto offering comfort. The shadows had begun to grow long in the courtyard before they finally spoke again.

_I think Bucky’s still with us. But I understand if you’re not ready to be called that again, yet._

“Too late, I think,” Bucky chuckled. He knew Steve could never call him anything else.

_Perhaps, but I can call you something else, if you’d like._

“You’d do that?”

_Of course._

And damned if that smile didn’t make Bucky want to weep, again. Even if they were destined to be nothing more than friends, what had he done, to deserve the friendship of this amazing man? His heart caught on another wave of grief, even as it felt full of a joy so alien as to make him gasp at the recognition of it.

 _James?_ Ianto smiled even as the name floated through Bucky’s mind, knowing he’d never liked his first name, all that much.

Bucky shook his head vehemently. “I don’t know what to suggest. It’s just that ‘sergeant’ sounds so… formal,” he finished lamely, not wanting to use the word ‘impersonal’.

_How about… Winter?_

Bucky looked at Ianto, who was watching him carefully. It was a reminder of his past, but to hear Ianto’s voice caress the word (still only in his mind, sadly), it seemed… fitting.

“Doesn’t that conjure images of the Soldier?” he asked, hoping Ianto would say no.

_Part of the conflict you’re feeling right now is because the Soldier is now a part of you. You’re no longer ‘just’ Bucky. You’re also the Soldier, even if he had no control over his actions, before now. But you’re not just the Soldier, either. Perhaps Winter would soften the blending of the two?_

Bucky thought for a moment. “Strange kind of name, though, isn’t it?”

Ianto huffed, and Bucky watched as he silently shook with laughter.

“What?”

_My middle name is Wynter. But with a ‘y’ rather than an ‘i’._

“Really?” Bucky’s eyes grew wide at the revelation. “What does it mean?”

 _Fair, or light-skinned._ Ianto rolled his eyes as Bucky laughed, reminded of an earlier point in their conversation.

“Ianto Wynter Jones?” Bucky asked.

_Ifan Wynter. Ianto is the diminutive for Ifan._

“So I could call you Ifan?” Bucky grinned. “Or Hans, perhaps? Or Ion?” he smiled as Ianto huffed another laugh. “Or Ioan, perhaps?” He chuckled. “They’re all variations of John, yes?”

Ianto nodded. _All of the names in the papers were variations of John Jones._

“But John doesn’t really suit you,” Bucky said, sitting back and looking at Ianto appraisingly.

 _You could just keep calling me Drakon._ Ianto blushed prettily, and it was all Bucky could do, to keep from kissing him.

“Drakon it is, then,” he said, his voice low and husky, all of a sudden. When Ianto’s eyes widened a fraction, he cleared his throat and added. “And you’re willing to share your middle name with me?”

Ianto laughed again. It was beautiful, even in its silence. _I would give it to you outright, if you asked._ He blushed again, then added. _But the ‘y’ might confuse people._ He gave a devilish grin.

Bucky was so _fucked_.

Shut _up_ , Steve.

“Winter, then,” Bucky smiled back, feeling himself blushing, as well.

_Winter._

Bucky closed his eyes, letting the Welsh lilt wash through him.

***

The next day was a Saturday, and they both felt strong enough to walk further afield. They discovered the falls where the incoronation ceremony was to be held on Sunday. Shuri had told them, in her sweetly blunt way, that they were not invited. T’Challa had tried to apologize, but they both understood that this was a deeply personal ceremony for an intensely isolated people.

They sat on an outcrop, overlooking the pool. It was idyllic. They chatted for a while about everything and nothing, until Bucky related an amusing exchange he had witnessed between T’Challa and Shuri. They both chuckled.

“Siblings,” Bucky said, smiling into the distance.

_You had a sister?_

Bucky nodded. “Becca.” He gave a sniff. “I looked them all up, you know. Gramma died in ’47. Dad in ’57. Mom in ’66.” He swiped at his eyes. “Becca died in ’95. Her daughter Winnie, the year after.”

Ianto nodded, and Bucky wasn’t surprised that he knew all of this, already. _Your nephew James is still alive. So are his children._

“Yeah. Another James and Rebecca. Both older than me, counting by awake years.”

_Still family you can get to know, if you choose._

“I miss the ones I did know,” Bucky whispered, the confession a broken thing.

Ianto was sitting to Bucky’s left, again. He turned now, moving his right leg behind Bucky and throwing his left leg into the older man’s lap, not caring how it might look. He wrapped his arms around Bucky and held him as he found his grief, once more.

Bucky clung to Ianto with his right arm, burying his face in the smooth, warm skin of his neck, which was quickly becoming one of his favorite places to be, despite the number of tears he seemed to shed when there.

Ianto held him close, trying to impart comfort and a degree of acceptance. Anything more felt manipulative. His heart broke for Winter as much as it had, for Steve. Steve had lost everything, true, but he’d had less to lose. Fewer people to miss, when he came out of the ice. Bucky had gone to war with a grandparent still alive, as well as both parents, a sister, a niece, and a nephew. He came back to himself with just the nephew, who had only been four when Bucky had gone off to war.

He had lost everything, including his freedom. He had been turned into a killing machine and used for nefarious purposes for decades. Now he was free, and the only thing he had was Steve and a bunch of strangers.

For his part, Steve had left Bucky with a reading list and strict instructions to absorb the material and take it to heart. It had helped Steve to grieve and accept his new life, and he hoped it would help Bucky to do the same. Bucky had already discovered some of the books during the year and a half since he’d been freed from Hydra.

It didn’t surprise Ianto that Bucky had sought help. That he had found the craziest shrink in the entirety of Eastern Europe was perhaps a stroke of genius, as well. Because even if she broke doctor-patient confidentiality, who would believe her? That doctor had given Bucky reading lists to help him begin unpacking his grief, and had worked specifically on the rape traumas with him.

Ianto had taken a moment to find the doctor, and was actually impressed. Those who regarded her as a quack did so because she had freely embraced some of the more holistic modalities that were beginning to show success a bit ahead of her bretheren. She was more visionary than insane, but her questionable status gave Bucky some security.

And when he’d stopped seeing her, her office had been burgled soon after, with many of her records scrambled, which made it impossible to see that only one patient’s records had been completely removed, deleted, or destroyed.

By the time the storm had passed, the sun had gone down and they were left to make their way slowly back to the palace complex, where they had a quiet dinner and spent some time in the library, before retiring.

Bucky knew Ianto was trying to hide his fatigue, but he also noticed that it was not as severe. It was getting steadily better. He reached out and took Ianto’s hand as the younger man padded from the bathroom to his bed, now wearing pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. “Thank you for today,” he smiled.

Ianto returned his smile. _You’re welcome, Winter._

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so depending on the comic, Bucky has four siblings, or just one. And he has a niece and a nephew, or... So I picked what worked for the story and just made stuff up. Hell, I'm rewriting more than I'm keeping anyway, so let's just go with it. :)
> 
> Bucky's arguments with the Steve in his head made me laugh.
> 
> Hope you enjoy - let me know what you think! :)


	46. Chapter 46

The next day, as the populace attended the incoronation, Ianto and Bucky wandered the palace gardens. Ianto kept Bucky talking for hours, asking him about his family. His grief ebbed and flowed with the stories he told, but sharing the happy memories of his childhood made him feel warm and safe in a way he had forgotten he could feel.

He spoke of a happy childhood with a poor but stable and loving family, painting a picture so vivid that between the stories and the feelings he was projecting, Ianto could practically see the people and events being described. George Barnes worked the docks, an honest man and a hard worker who managed to stay away from any of the shadier prospects that work could offer. He sacrificed the ability to make more money in order to keep his integrity, something that had left a deep imprint on his son.

Bucky had followed his dad to the docks, and had almost dropped out of school before finishing, but it was his father’s influence and his mother’s insistence that saw him graduate.

Winnifred Barnes was a school teacher whose uncompromising compassion and capability saw her advance to school administration, where she eventually became principal in the school Bucky and Rebecca had graduated from. She somehow managed to find a balance between stern and fair, and she was much beloved by many besides her family.

Rebecca was a typical kid sister, a bit of a tomboy who tended to trail after Bucky and Steve, and a debate lasted well into their adulthood as to whether she got them into more trouble than she kept them out of. They had stayed close, even after she married, and her children had given Bucky a great deal of joy, before he left for war.

And Steve. Ianto had seen the pictures, but it was difficult to imagine the Avengers’ leader as frail and sickly. Of course, as Bucky continued to tell stories, Ianto better understood. All of the steel spine and righteous outlook, with none of the physicality to back it up, resulting in a general attitude of snark and sarcasm that was still with them, though a bit more muted, since he had less to prove, now. And Ianto gave a shiver as Bucky described the harsh winters and many illnesses, when the difference between ‘sick, but mostly okay’ and ‘at death’s door’ could be a knife’s edge.

They had packed a lunch, and as they sat in the shade of a grand old tree and ate, their conversation continued. They’d been walking barefoot through the lush grass, and now sat on a blanket, Ianto’s foot resting against Bucky’s ankle in order to maintain contact so they could continue their conversation. 

Bucky looked at Ianto uncertainly. He wanted to ask him a question, but didn’t wish to pry.

 _What?_ Ianto looked amused.

“Nothing,” Bucky replied. “I just feel like I’ve been talking about myself all afternoon. Will,” he hesitated, but Ianto gave him an encouraging smile. “Will you tell me about your family?”

It was Ianto’s turn to hesitate. He gave a thoughtful frown, and Bucky thought for a moment that the younger man wouldn’t answer. He remembered that first nightmare. He knew that Ianto’s childhood wasn’t full of happy memories – most likely, the opposite. But maybe… maybe he wanted someone to ask. Bucky shook his head, thinking that was silly, but then Ianto caught his attention.

_You’ve given me such a gift today. Do you know that?_

Bucky frowned, confused.

 _You’ve shared such beautiful memories with me. I… I wish I could return the favor._ Ianto sighed. _Honestly, I don’t remember all that much, before I was ten._

Bucky sighed. He knew from his crazy shrink’s reading lists that a spotty memory was one of the hallmarks of an abusive childhood. He reached out and took Ianto’s hand, surprising the younger man. 

“Say whatever you _want_ to say. It doesn’t have to be pretty, Drakon.”

Ianto turned his hand so their fingers interlaced, and he marveled at how natural it felt. As tactile as Jack tended to be, he had never been one for this sort of gesture. Perhaps as it implied a natural affection that he was always so eager to avoid. Then again, Lisa had always been open and generous with her affection, and yet she had not liked such gestures, either.

Ianto blinked at his train of thought, and then blushed furiously at the realization of the advance he had just made towards Winter. He loosened his hold, hoping the older man would ignore the lapse, but then he heard a warm chuckle as his hand was grasped more firmly.

“Holding hands seems to be a bit of a lost art,” Bucky said, his voice low. “People just don’t seem to, any more. Shame, because it can be such a warm and comforting gesture.”

Ianto looked up and smiled. He drew his legs up so he was sitting tailor-style, and kept Bucky’s hand. 

The gesture wasn’t lost on Bucky, who would have recognized that Ianto was drawing himself in, even if his avatar wasn’t taking a more defensive stance, behind him. He was sure a change of topic was forthcoming, so he was surprised when Ianto began describing his childhood.

_I don’t remember much, really. Before I started school I remember my father being happy and affectionate, and my mother being joyful, but… delicate. Fragile._

Dafydd Jones was twenty years old when his girlfriend Glenda fell pregnant at sixteen. She was seventeen when Rhiannon was born, and twenty-one when Ianto entered the world. They were a happy little family, until just after Ianto turned three.

Dafydd’s happiness evaporated when the master tailor he had been apprenticed to died, suddenly. The tailor’s family closed the shop rather than allowing Ianto’s father, who was ready to step into the role of master, to take over. Because of his poor background, none of the other shops were willing to hire him, so he found himself working a counter at the local department store, and the change in status, position, and potential had him turning to a bottle, for solace.

He quickly reverted to his roughened roots, dropping all of the manners and ‘airs’ that he had learned in his trade, developing a contempt for them that he passed onto his daughter. The further into the bottle he crawled, the more short-tempered and mean-spirited he grew. For a sweet-tempered, sensitive child like Ianto, it was a recipe for disaster.

The fading of Glenda’s joy was in direct proportion to the magnification of Dafydd’s anger and remoteness. Ianto spent a lot of time visiting Glenda’s mother in Brecon, from the time he was three years old until his grandmother’s death, when he was twelve. Glenda’s fragility became more and more brittle until, soon after Ianto turned five, the first crack appeared.

_It was my fault._

“What was?” Bucky asked, startled as Ianto blinked, then looked away.

 _She had a breakdown, just after I started school. She was sent to Providence Park._ He looked at Bucky, then away again. _Mental institution._

Bucky frowned. “How was that your fault?”

Ianto shook his head. _I don’t know. But Rhiannon told me… when they took Mam away. Rhiannon said it was my fault._

“Bullshit.”

Ianto huffed, but then went still. Like he was steeling himself to tell Bucky something. 

_She was twenty-six._

It was a quiet admission, and Bucky wasn’t certain he understood the trepidation in the tone of Ianto’s confession. He looked closely at his friend and raised an enquiring eyebrow.

_That’s how old I am, now. I’ve always wondered. Worried._

“Worried?”

 _That if I made it to twenty-six, whether I’d… Like her._ Ianto looked at Bucky, hoping he’d understand. He didn’t want to actually articulate the fear that had always lurked. After all, he recognized the same fragility in himself. What if he cracked, and then finally broke, as she had?

Bucky blinked. He nodded that he understood what Ianto was saying. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, Drakon,” he said, his voice gentle. At Ianto’s surprised look, he added, “You are so much stronger than you realize. The things you’ve seen, not even counting the beatings or how you found her… And you’ve still survived. You are _so_ strong.”

Ianto closed his eyes, then nodded.

Bucky squeezed his hand. “And you know it’s perfectly natural for a child to turn five and then go to school, right?”

Ianto nodded, back on track. _I know. One of the first things the shrink at uni worked on, with me. But…_ He shrugged. _Can’t help that it still feels that way, even if I know I didn’t do anything wrong._ He hesitated, but plowed ahead. _Doesn’t help that the first real beating me tad gave me was while Mam was away, that first time._ He sniffed when Bucky clutched his hand more tightly. _Except for that last one, it was always worse, when she was away._

Bucky held his tongue, knowing he had to let Ianto tell him this, in his own time. His patience was rewarded when, after a moment, Ianto went on to describe how, over the next five years, his mother was in and out of Providence Park. When she was out, she managed to maintain, at least until she couldn’t. The longest she stayed out was just shy of a year. A new breakdown, usually facilitated by some form of physical or emotional abuse from her husband, would send her back.

It was not a sustainable pattern, so it was merely a matter of time before things came to a head. Ianto had just turned ten when it happened. Rhiannon had been invited to stay with a school friend, and Dafydd stumbled in from the pub an hour late for dinner. He then proceeded to shout abuse at his wife for his dinner being cold.

He threw the plate at her, and the sound of it shattering against the kitchen wall became a triggering noise that would haunt Ianto for the rest of his long life. She was sobbing as she began cleaning up the mess, and Dafydd began haranguing her to hurry up, as he was hungry and still expected to be fed. When she didn’t move quickly enough to do as he demanded, he backhanded her.

_It was the first time I’d ever seen him strike her. I mean, I knew he had, before. But I’d never seen it happen. I just… It was my first experience of pure rage._

Bucky shook his head. His first experience of rage had been when he’d seen the mark on his neighbor Kim Stoker’s cheek from where her boyfriend Jimmy Marshall had smacked her. Steve had accompanied him when he went to beat the bastard into the next zip code. 

Bucky had been twenty, at the time.

“What did you do?” Bucky had no doubt that Ianto had acted upon his rage, and he had a feeling he’d already seen the result.

Ianto snorted. _Picked up Mam’s stepladder – she used it to reach the high shelves in the pantry – and swung it at him. He was leaned over, see. Still shouting at her. So I gave it a hard upswing._

“Ouch,” Bucky’s lip quirked. He wouldn’t have expected a ten year-old to be able to get an effective swipe at a full-grown man, but it sounded like Ianto’s blow connected, at least.

_They told me later that I broke the ladder, and dislocated his jaw._

Bucky chuckled grimly. “Not without consequences, though.” Not a question.

Ianto shrugged. _Got him away from Mam, for a few minutes. But yeah. He laid into me._ He shuddered at the memory, and Bucky squeezed his hand again. _Like never before, actually._

He described his injuries, and how his mother had tried to stop it, but had been beaten soundly, as well. He talked about his time in hospital, and how he had been presented as evidence at the trial.

 _He was convicted on two counts of GBH under Section 20._ At Bucky’s look of confusion, he explained. _Grievous Bodily Harm. Section 18 would mean with intent. Section 20 was a lesser charge, because there wasn’t intent._

“How can that be?”

Ianto shrugged again. _He was drunk. His sentence was five years for each count, to be served consecutively, with no parole. He killed another inmate, about six years in, then another at thirteen years. Doubt he’ll get out, at this point._

Bucky wanted to express his relief that this was the case, but felt he should keep quiet, as he could tell Ianto wasn’t done, yet. The younger man went on to describe how his grandmother had come to take care of him and Rhiannon during each of his mother’s subsequent stays at Providence Park. 

His nan died when he was twelve. Within months, Rhiannon had moved out. As soon as she turned sixteen, she’d married Johnny. Ianto and his mother got along well, and had two happy years together before she began to lose her final battle with depression.

_I feel like I should have seen how bad it had gotten again. But there wasn’t the nervous piece – she was no longer living in an abusive environment, so there wasn’t the anxiety that usually sparked a breakdown._

Bucky let go of Ianto’s hand and moved beside him, wrapping his arm around the younger man. “What happened?”

Ianto shrugged, then sniffed. As much as he had talked about it in therapy, it was still difficult to say. _I’d got a job stocking shelves at the corner market. I came home from work and found her._

Bucky pulled him closer, and Ianto buried his face in Bucky’s neck. He was distracted for a moment, discovering that Winter smelt _nice_.

“How old were you?” Bucky asked, his voice gentle.

_Fourteen._

“Where did you go?”

_Rhiannon and Johnny agreed to take me in. Mostly for appearances, and so they could get the house. And not a day went by, between then and when I turned sixteen and ran away to uni, that she didn’t blame me, either for our father’s prison sentence or our mother’s death._

“I’m sorry, Drakon,” Bucky held Ianto, who was in a place of deep sorrow from relaying this, but had not become tearful. Ianto kept his eyes closed, breathed in Winter's delicious scent, and waited for the wave of grief to subside.

There were several people who knew the story of Ianto’s upbringing. There was Miss Plimpkin, the school counsellor at Uni, whom Ianto had continued to see until he escaped with Lisa to Cardiff. Jack knew some of it, but Ianto had never told him the whole of it. Coulson and Fury knew the highlights, from the SHIELD counsellor who had done Ianto’s initial psych evaluation. Thankfully, that counsellor had not been Hydra, so Ianto still saw her regularly. Clint and Natasha knew some. Steve knew most.

But this was only the third time he had walked anyone through all of it, in detail. The first two were the counsellors. It felt good that he had felt nothing but support from Winter. Nothing but acceptance. There was anger and indignation, of course, but there was also sorrow. It showed a compassion that warmed Ianto, even as he shuddered at some of the memories this had stirred.

Ianto held on, feeling close to Winter in more than just the physical sense. _Tell me a happy story._

The request was so unexpected, Bucky almost panicked. But he understood, now. Ianto wasn’t jealous of Bucky’s upbringing. He might wish he’d had something similar, but he didn’t begrudge Bucky his happy memories. Rather, he drew comfort and a vicarious sense of happiness from Bucky’s stories. 

He ran a hand through Ianto’s hair and kissed the nearest bit he could reach – Ianto’s forehead – and launched into the story of the time he and Becca had put Steve in a dress in order to lure out the mugger that had been plaguing the older women in their neighborhood.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit shorter, but it felt like a natural break-point. Next up are some smooches, some angst, and a coup.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed some backstory for Bucky and Ianto. 
> 
> Also, what I know about UK law is what I managed to comprehend from what Google has told me, so I hope you can forgive any inaccuracies, suspend disbelief, and flow with the overall story.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading - let me know what you think! :)


	47. Chapter 47

As the people of Wakanda celebrated their new king, Bucky and Ianto continued to get to know one another. Each had recovered sufficiently that Shuri had no excuse not to move them from the medical wing to the palace’s guest quarters. However, knowing that each was helping the other to recover, she assigned them rooms next to one another that shared a common lounge and kitchen space.

Bucky had the final fitting for the new prosthetic arm, and it was due to be finished and attached in the next day or so.

Bucky finally told Ianto that he had witnessed the younger man’s nightmares. Ianto was more concerned about Bucky than anything else, and gave his friend permission to ask about any of the images he had seen.

Bucky was shocked to find that many of the techniques Hydra had used to break him had been used by Torchwood One in order to ‘expand’ Ianto’s psychic abilities. They spent time sharing those stories, slowly comparing experiences in hopes of explaining without triggering the other.

Another week passed, and they noticed a certain degree of uneasiness in the city, because T’Challa’s mission to South Korea had not gone to plan. Ianto had caught a glimpse of the injured Officer Ross when they brought him in the day before, but he hadn’t come around when Ianto looked into the lab, before breakfast. As usual, Ianto and Bucky had packed a lunch and just wandered.

Bucky told Ianto about losing himself to the Hydra programming, and how it had felt, to watch the Soldier carry out one atrocity after another. Ianto told Bucky about the Battle of Canary Wharf, and how he had betrayed Torchwood Three in his quest to save Lisa. It was all he could do, to describe the ultimate failure of that plan.

_You’re not culpable, Winter. You had no control over your actions. I was in complete control, and I could have ended the world, because I just didn’t want to see…_

“I don’t think you were, though,” Bucky replied, looking thoughtful. At Ianto’s frown, he shook his head. “No, really. How much trauma were you dealing with? How were you even functioning? Your mission – saving Lisa – was the only thing holding you together. You were severely impaired, and no one even bothered to notice.”

_I can’t claim I wasn’t… obsessed. But I knew what I was doing. I have to own my responsibility in that._

“Yes, _and_ ,” Bucky held up a hand. “Hear me out, Drakon. _And_ , had you not been out of your mind with grief and trauma, you would have made better decisions.”

_I seem to have a pattern of not seeing what’s in front of me, though._

“What do you mean?”

_I didn’t see how depressed my mam had become, until it was too late. I didn’t see how much Rhia hated me, until it was time for me to move out. I didn’t see what Yvonne was up to, until it was too late. I didn’t see what was in the Void Ship. I didn’t see that Lisa couldn’t be saved. I didn’t see that Jack was never going to…_

He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Okay, let’s look at each of those,” Bucky said reasonably. “You already told me that your mom’s depression had never presented without the anxiety, so how could you be expected to see it coming, if it was presenting differently? And don’t say you should have seen how depressed she was, because depressed people are experts at covering.

“And you knew your sister was wretched, because she went out of her way to be unkind. Almost every day for almost two years, you said. So you knew, you just didn’t name it, because you had no place else to go.

“You knew Hartman was up to no good, or else you never would have asked Lisa to run away with you. And you didn’t see what was in the Void Ship because it made you pass out, when you tried to read it. What more could you have done?

“And as for Lisa,” Bucky gentled his voice and ran his hand up and down Ianto’s arm, “you couldn’t admit she was gone, because saving her was your lifeline. It would have been like putting a gun to your own head, to admit she was gone.”

Bucky stopped speaking and watched as Ianto fidgeted. “Sometimes things really are outside of our control, Ianto. It sucks, but it’s true.”

_I know. It’s just… Yeah. It sucks._

“C’mere.” Bucky marveled how they seemed to ebb and flow so naturally. When Bucky needed support, Ianto was strong and solid. But when Ianto fell apart, Bucky was able to find that same strength. It was lovely, now nicely they seemed to fit. 

He did still wonder what had happened during the healing, that left Ianto so physically weak, and emotionally raw and vulnerable. All Ianto had said was that the vulnerability was normal. This time, it just happened to coincide with how they were getting to know one another. 

It put them on equal footing, and Bucky couldn’t help but think it was best, that way. Foolish as it was, he would have felt too weak and pathetic, too broken and exposed, if he were the only one baring his soul during those long walks. 

Besides, Ianto’s soul was too beautiful not to take the time to properly _see_.

And Ianto felt _seen_. For perhaps the first time in his life, in this sort of context. Lisa had tried, but there were certain things she had shied from, when he had tried to tell her. He’d never blamed her, but for Winter to look at him and be willing to see _everything_ , without flinching…

 _Thank you._ Without even thinking, he nuzzled into that spot on Bucky’s neck. He pulled back when he felt the older man shiver and time seemed to slow as the air between them thickened. Bucky’s hand flexed on Ianto’s shoulder blade as his eyes dropped to Ianto’s lips. Ianto’s mouth opened slightly as he drew in a breath and watched, fascinated as Bucky’s eyes darkened.

Ianto reached up and cupped Bucky’s cheek as the older man pulled him closer. He felt the heat of Bucky’s breath, noticing the slight hitch as they drew one another closer. The first brush of lips was gentle, hesitant. But there was also the spark of something electric that made Ianto’s heart kick in his chest. The world dropped away and Ianto became pure sensation as their lips connected again, sliding gently as they shared touch, breath, and a depth of feeling that almost overwhelmed him. 

Bucky pulled Ianto closer but refrained from deepening the kiss, enjoying the heat of the connection, their mouths slightly open and _so_ tempting, but there was a sweetness and intensity to this first kiss that he did not want to rush past. The kiss almost ended, but Ianto leaned in, not wanting to lose the connection so soon. Bucky smiled and sucked Ianto’s bottom lip, giving it a nip before turning it loose.

Ianto let out a sound that was so much like a purr that Bucky couldn’t restrain the laugh of delight that bubbled from his chest at the sound of it.

 _What?_ Ianto didn’t even seem to realize he’d made the noise. 

“Nothing. I’ve just made a major draconological discovery, is all.”

 _Which is?_ Bucky wanted to kiss that quirked eyebrow.

“Drakons purr when you kiss them,” he replied, his voice low and sultry. He gave in to temptation and bussed the eyebrow before catching Ianto’s lips again. “I can’t help but wonder what else might elicit that lovely sound.”

Bucky leaned in and kissed Ianto again, and they lost themselves for countless moments as they clung to one another and just enjoyed snogging like teenagers. Ianto caved first, seeking entry and then lapping at Bucky’s mouth and exploring his soft palate before sliding his tongue along Bucky’s.

It was Ianto’s turn to enjoy the low, growling noise that rumbled from deep within Bucky’s chest.

Both men were excellent kissers, though perhaps a bit out of practice. But such sensual and instinctual things do tend to come naturally, and each remembered, soon enough. It was only the need to draw a proper breath that finally drove them apart.

Bucky rested his forehead against Ianto’s. “Drakon,” he sighed.

_Winter._

“I feel you holding back,” Bucky said, and Ianto leaned away, looking at him. “Is it because of what Steve said? Because everyone you heal feels closer to you, and you’re afraid I feel this way, out of gratitude?”

 _It does give one pause._ Ianto tried to smile, but Bucky could feel the younger man’s fear that _this_ , whatever it might turn out to be, wasn’t real.

“But tell me, Drakon,” Bucky said, his voice a bit playful, “does that mean everyone you heal wants to _taste_ you?” He leaned in and ran his tongue along Ianto’s neck, from his collarbone to behind his ear. Ianto made that noise again, and Bucky chuckled. He kissed the trail he had just licked, lightly sucking the spot behind Ianto’s ear before drawing the lobe into his mouth and having a nibble.

 _I can’t say that’s been an issue._ Ianto purred again, then huffed out a small laugh.

“No,” Bucky murmured, kissing Ianto again and drinking deep.

They separated again, panting for breath, and Bucky said, “How about we go back to our rooms and see where this goes?” He felt eager, like he remembered feeling when he was a teenager, but there was also something underneath the eagerness. Something that smelled of fear. He didn’t want to look at it. He just wanted to enjoy this. He wanted to bury his demons far, far away and enjoy exploring the beautiful Welshman who was watching him carefully.

_We have all the time in the world, Winter. Let’s not rush._

Bucky felt something tighten in his chest. Did Ianto not want him? What if Ianto didn’t want him? What if Ianto knew about everything that had happened? He’d seen all of the records, what if he’d seen the things Hydra had done to the Soldier? 

What if Ianto thought Bucky was just damaged goods? 

_Winter, take a breath. I can feel you panicking._

Ianto reached out, but Bucky pulled back. “I’m fine. Why don’t you just say what you mean, Ianto?”

Ianto flinched at the bitterness rolling off of Bucky, but he didn’t understand it. He took a deep breath. _Okay. I don’t think there’s any need to rush this. I’m not saying I don’t want you, because I do. But it just feels…_ He hesitated, running a hand through his hair and looking awkward. _It feels too soon for m…_

Bucky hissed and broke their connection. He could feel… _something_ coming from Ianto. He didn’t know what it was, but in his growing panic he translated it to something akin to _pity_. “Who are you to think you know what’s too soon for me?” he asked, outraged.

Ianto’s eyes widened and he shook his head, reaching out for Bucky as he gestured to himself with his hand.

Bucky moved away from Ianto, his panic growing. “You know what happened, and you feel sorry for me, and you think you need to take it slow for poor, pitiful _Bucky_ ,” he sneered. “Well you know what? Fuck you, and fuck your _pity_.”

Bucky stood and strode away, the broken sound of Ianto’s voice only giving him a moment’s pause.

“Winter… wait!”

***

As Bucky re-entered the palace area, Shuri grabbed him by the arm and began dragging him towards the lab. “Quickly!” she cried. She looked around. “Where is Ianto?”

“Here,” came a broken reply as Ianto did his best to hurry to catch up to them. He was still very weak.

“What’s happened?” Bucky set aside his anger and took a good look at Shuri, who was crying.

“Killmonger challenged my brother to ritual combat, for the throne.” At their looks of confusion, she quickly added, “Apparently he is the son of our father’s brother. He had the right to issue the challenge. He…” she broke down in sobs, and Ianto drew her into his arms.

After a moment, she pushed him away. “T’Challa is dead. And Nakia says we should run. Neither of you is strong enough, but you’re not safe here, either. So…” she looked from one to the other. “I want to put you into the cryo chambers. He will not think to look for you there, especially if I hide them well enough.”

Bucky had taken an involuntary step back. Ianto looked haggard.

“Please, I know it is terrible for me to ask this of you, Sergeant, but it is the only way to keep you both safe. Please. We have a difficult journey to make, and neither of you has recovered enough to be able to keep up.”

Ianto looked to Bucky, who gave a reluctant nod.

“Thank you,” she cried. “Now, quickly. Follow me!”

She led them to a lab that was all but hidden, where four cryo units had been brought by two of her assistants. They were all set up and ready to be used. Bucky stayed well away from Ianto as Shuri bustled around, preparing the chambers. Ianto, Bucky, and both assistants were frozen within a quarter hour.

***

A few days later, Shuri was back. She had snuck back into the labs to gear up, but the first thing she did was bring the four cryo units online and do a partial revival.

“I am sorry for this,” she said. “I know you can hear me. I have initiated the thawing protocol. It will hopefully reduce the cryo sickness when you come fully out of it, and it will be easier to move you, if this does not go to plan.”

“You see, T’Challa is alive, after all, and he is going to challenge Killmonger to finish the fight so he can retake the throne. We shall fight. If it does not go well, we will have to flee. Either I or one of the Dora Milaje will come for you.”

With that, she was gone.

But Ianto was awake _enough_.

***

As the fight progressed, some were shocked to see an enormous, silvery-blue tree with knotted branches spring from the field of battle. Branches protected Shuri, Nakia, and as many of the Dora Milaje as it could reach.

Then a red dragon appeared in the sky, batting the Dragonflyers out of the air like a cat playing with catnip toys. The complication being that most could not see the tree, nor the dragon. However, W’Kabi did see, and he began calling for those of his warriors who could also see the beast. 

They commandeered several Dragonflyers and began attacking the dragon. To everyone’s surprise, that seemed to do little more than piss it off. In the next moment, _everyone_ could see it, as it became solid. Flesh and bone.

And fire.

It’s dangerous to forget the fire.

Those loyal to T’Challa were able to hold their own until M’Baku arrived with his warriors. Ross took care of stopping the Royal Talon Fighters attempting to escape with the weapons. As his ship was destroyed and he landed atop a pile of sand, he saw the Dragonflyer outside of the lab window crushed by an enormous red dragon.

Ross sat and gaped for a moment as the dragon _smirked_ at him, before heading topside, again.

“You have hoverbikes. And dragons,” he said as he stood and ran from the lab.

“The dragon we cannot claim more than friendship with,” Shuri said, her voice amused. “He is Welsh, not Wakandan.”

“Welsh?” Ross’ eyes widened. Was this Jones’ power? He hadn’t seen anything, in Berlin, but perhaps that was part of whatever it was that had allowed the Avengers’ handler to restrain the quick response team and Lampling.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so don't be too hard on Bucky. He panicked, and didn't let Ianto explain. 
> 
> I've given the tiniest hint about where Ianto's hesitation is coming from. More on that coming up, but I'll be adding tags for trigger warnings. It's not pretty.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the smoochies, while they lasted. There will be more eventually, but there's stuff that needs to be addressed, first. 
> 
> Let me know what you think - comments hoarded greedily. :)


	48. Chapter 48

When the dust had settled, T’Challa was once more in power. But the ease with which Killmonger had brought people onside to his cause was sobering. W’Kabi had been T’Challa’s closest friend, and had turned traitor. 

That had hurt, the most. 

The fact that T’Challa had neither died nor yielded meant that the trial by combat was to continue until one or the other of the combatants was defeated. It defied reason that W’Kabi had thrown in with Killmonger, willfully ignoring the fact that the only reason the latter had been able to kill Klaue was _because he had been working with him_. 

Shouldn’t that have given W’Kabi pause?

T’Challa’s heart went out to Okoye, whose loyalties had been sorely tested in the battle. She had chosen her king over her husband, and T’Challa knew better than anyone that it had broken her heart to do so. But such was _her_ integrity.

As Shuri returned to her lab, a call came in from Captain Rogers. “Shuri, I’m in a Quinjet just outside your border. Permission to approach?”

“Where were you twelve hours ago?” she snarked, then sighed. “I am sorry, Captain. It has been an eventful few days. Yes, I will send approach and landing coordinates to you.”

Once the Quinjet landed, Shuri met Steve and Clint and quickly explained what had happened.

“And the dragon joined the fight,” Clint said, shaking his head. “Goddammit, Ianto.”

“What?” Shuri asked.

“We’d better check on him,” Steve sighed. “As near as we can tell, the dragon avatar is meant to protect Ianto – to shield him from the beating the tree takes, when he’s using it to protect everyone else.”

“But…” Shuri sped up her steps, leading them to the secret lab, along with Ross and several assistants. They brought everyone out of the cryo chambers. Bucky seemed largely unaffected, having long ago become inured to cryosickness. The two lab assistants were a bit queasy. But Ianto didn’t wake. They pulled him from his unit.

“He’s burning up,” Ross said, helping Steve to haul Ianto to a medical bed.

Shuri frowned, seeing his neck. She tore open his shirt to show the bruising from where he had absorbed every hit the tree avatar had taken.

“How can this be?” she looked horrified. “Bast, he was still weak from…” she bit off what she was going to say as she noticed Bucky frowning down at Ianto.

“What happened to him?” Bucky asked.

“He sent his avatars to join the fight,” Shuri replied. “The tree and the dragon.” She shook her head, reading his vitals. “He is very banged up. And his heart is still weak, but it does not seem any worse, thank goodness. But his energy levels…” Early on, she had figured out how to monitor Ianto’s power stores.

“Using the avatars for protection drains his energy levels,” Steve said. “How bad?”

“Bad,” she replied curtly. “But then again, they made him angry.”

“Shit,” Clint muttered. “What did he do?”

“The dragon became solid,” she said, trying not to grin. “At first it was just energy, batting the little Dragonflyers out of the air, but then they started shooting sonic canons. I imagine it stung, and you could tell when he’d had enough, because the dragon stopped being,” she waved her hand in the air, to indicate its transparency, “and became solid. Right down to breathing real fire.”

“God, how much energy would that have taken?” Steve blanched.

“Almost all of it,” Shuri sighed, looking back at the readings. “I do not see him waking in the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”

Steve frowned. “Can we take him with us?”

“I wouldn’t recommend moving him,” Shuri frowned. “We are stable here, now. We can take care of him, still.”

“No, it’s not that,” Steve said. “But he’s not meant to be left alone when he gets like this, and the OIG is threatening to drop the charges against Lampling if we can’t get either Bucky or Ianto in front of them, today.”

“Today?” Shuri frowned. “What is wrong with them?”

“Trying to avoid the embarrassment, probably. We can put them off another couple of days for Ianto’s testimony, maybe. But we should take Bucky.”

Shuri looked at Ianto, his body horrifically bruised. Then she looked at the scans. “No internal damage. Several cracked ribs. Severe contusions.” She took his right hand. “He protected us, during the battle. Helped us to stay in the fight until reinforcements arrived.”

“How did he do that, if he was in cryo?” Clint asked.

“I began to revive them before the battle.”

“So he was thawed enough for his consciousness to join the fray,” Steve nodded, then huffed. “If the Ancient One doesn’t kick his ass for this, then I will.” He looked at Bucky. “Can you grab your gear? We need to be wheels-up, in thirty.”

Bucky nodded. He spared a glance for Ianto before leaving the room.

“Strange,” Shuri frowned after him.

“Yeah, I’d have expected him to give some lip over leaving Ianto here.”

“They have been spending _a lot_ of time together,” Shuri giggled. “As in, almost every waking hour.”

“ _Really_?” Steve grinned.

Clint rolled his eyes and looked at Ross. “Fine line between matchmaker and yenta, right?”

“What?” Ross frowned.

“We are not gossips!” Shuri protested, but she was grinning.

“Those two have been conspiring to get Barnes and Jones together,” Clint shrugged when Ross chuckled. “Not that the idea is without merit. But we just haven’t seen this side of Steve before, and it’s kinda hilarious.”

Ross chuckled again, then turned serious. “You know, he also took out the Dragonflyer that was shooting at the glass in the lab,” he said. “Saved my life.” He looked from Steve to Clint, then to Shuri. “So how is a Welsh SHIELD agent also a dragon?”

“He’s not,” Clint said.

“It’s more that the dragon is him,” Steve added helpfully.

“But it’s an avatar,” Shuri put in.

“So… the dragon is an aspect of Ianto that manifests to…” Ross smirked at their surprised looks. “Wait, no. It’s _supposed to_ protect him. But it can’t, if he sends it off to fight, instead.”

“SHIELD is going to have to bring you in to grant you clearance to know this, and to be sure you don’t share it with anyone,” Steve said, standing taller. Ross was happy that Steve wasn’t used to intimidating people. Even that clumsy attempt was a little terrifying. 

Not that he’d back down.

“You might be surprised what I’m read in on,” he replied coolly. 

“Who else here knows?” Steve asked Shuri.

“Just my brother, Okoye, and me. Many saw the dragon, but none besides us know its source. They have already begun to say the mythical creature and the tree should be taken as a sign that my brother is the true king.”

“You’re not encouraging that nonsense, are you?” Clint asked, and Steve rolled his eyes. There was a reason Clint was never allowed on diplomatic missions.

“Our shamans are not confirming it. But if they deny it outright too soon, it may arouse suspicion. As it is, the rumors are helping to settle everyone down. In time, the new High Shaman will offer a categorical denial. And no further sightings will help people move on, even if they do not forget,” Shuri said.

“Nor should they,” T’Challa said from the doorway. “Agent Jones has done Wakanda a great service, today.” He turned and extended his hand to Ross. “As have you, Officer Ross. I thank you. And once we have our feet under us, we will thank you both, properly.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Ross said, squirming a bit.

“If necessary, I will insist, when the time comes,” T’Challa smiled. His smile faded as he looked down at Ianto, taking in the bruises. “Ah, my friend. You have a habit of doing too much, it seems.”

***

Ianto’s nightmares took everyone by surprise. Shuri moved him back to the recovery room and engaged the bio-dampers, which helped everyone except Ianto. He slept for sixty hours, and they were sure to have someone watching over him, at all times. When he woke, it was three in the morning. 

Shuri was with him. She told him that Steve had been ordered to bring Sergeant Barnes before the OIG investigative committee. Within an hour of Steve arriving, Bucky had packed and she had attached his new arm, and they had left.

She frowned as she watched Ianto seem to draw into himself, as though collapsing inward.

“The OIG has given you a deadline for appearing,” she went on. “Once Sergeant Barnes gave his testimony, they told Captain Rogers that you need to appear no later than the day after tomorrow.”

Ianto nodded, rubbing a hand over his face and looking dreadful.

“Ianto?”

He patted her hand lay back down and, turning away from her, went back to sleep. He slept until early evening, when she roused him to get him to eat.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Ianto shrugged, poking at the food on his plate. Shuri could tell he was not really consuming any of it, just moving it around, for show.

“Steve told me that when you deplete your reserves, you have a difficult time, being left alone. Are you upset that Sergeant Barnes is gone?”

Ianto shook his head. “They never stay, anyway,” he rasped. His voice had not really fully returned, and his attempts to speak sounded quite painful.

Shuri frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ianto sniffed. “Can someone take me back to New York, tomorrow?”

Shuri nodded. “Okoye will take you.”

“Can she make a stop in Cardiff, do you think?”

“I don’t see why not. Why?”

“Want to pick up a few things,” he shrugged again.

***

Ianto’s suit was hanging from his frame. He was pale and looked gaunt, even with the sunglasses shielding his eyes. He was leaning on Okoye’s arm more heavily than he would have liked, but the cane was bloody useless, unless he was standing still and simply leaning on it.

“I don’t want to take too long,” he had told her when they arrived. She’d found a good spot to land the cloaked Royal Talon Fighter, and so far, they had visited Ianto’s favorite haberdashery to get several broadcloth shirts, a chocolaterie for Myfanwy’s favorite dark chocolate, and…

“Eye Candy, is that you?”

Ianto straightened as best he could and handed his stick to Okoye before turning to face John Hart.

“Hart.”

“Oh, this is too good,” Hart chuckled, tapping his comm. “Hey Jack. Come topside. You’ll never guess who’s here.” Hart took a good look at Ianto and frowned, then looked at Okoye. “Who’s your friend?” he leered.

“Give it up, Hart. Strong, intelligent women are never going to fall for your line of crap.”

Hart lifted his hands in surrender. “Just being friendly. What brings you to Cardiff?”

“Just a bit of shopping,” Ianto held up the bags in his hand. “Don’t suppose you have any hypervodka laying about, do you?”

“What, you drink all of the last lot already?”

“Peggy Carter died,” Ianto shrugged. “Steve and I gave her a proper sendoff.”

“I heard she’d passed,” Jack strode up. “Give Steve my condolences, will you?”

Ianto nodded. “Jack.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “Ianto? What’s happened? Were you injured in the bombing in Vienna?”

“That’s right, the Avengers were all there, weren’t they?” Hart frowned.

“I’m fine,” Ianto straightened.

“Who’s your friend?” Jack wasn’t buying it, but he knew better than to press Ianto for an answer.

“General Okoye, this is Captain Jack Harkness, and Captain John Hart. I apologize in advance.”

“Hey!” Jack protested.

“Hypervodka?” Ianto turned to Hart.

“Yeah, I might have a couple of bottles handy.” Hart turned and jogged off. “You’d better have cash,” he called back over his shoulder.

“So, what army do you command, General?” Jack asked, intrigued. Knowing Ianto, it could be anywhere. Still, he was surprised by the answer.

“I am the General of the Dora Milaje and the head of Wakandan armed forces and intel,” she replied.

“Wakanda?” Jack nodded. “I saw where the Black Panther made his first public appearance in the outside world, in Bucharest.” He turned to Ianto as Okoye’s eyes widened. “One of your ops, wasn’t it?”

“In that he bollocksed it up, yeah,” Ianto chuckled, and heard Okoye sniff. “He thought Sergeant Barnes was involved in the bombing.”

“Yeah, that leaked footage was a bit too pat,” Jack nodded. “Plus, how did he get back to Bucharest so quickly?”

“Exactly,” Ianto nodded.

“Leave it to the CIA to balls it up, though,” Jack chuckled. “You give them a bollocking of your own?”

“I’m set to appear before the OIG investigative committee, tomorrow.”

“Knock ‘em dead, Tiger,” Jack grinned.

Okoye schooled her features to hide her surprise, but she saw Ianto rolling his eyes, beside her.

“How do you know about the Panther, and Wakanda?” she asked Jack.

“The twenty-first century,” Jack began, but Ianto interrupted.

“Leave it, Jack.”

“She read in?”

“As good as.”

“I’m the Director of the Torchwood Institute. And from the future,” Jack said, and Okoye looked at Ianto, who nodded. “So is Hart,” he gestured. 

“Here you go,” Hart came jogging back up, carrying two large bottles in a shopping bag. “That’ll be five hundred quid, mate.”

Ianto handed his bags to Okoye and reached into his wallet. He pulled out two hundred. “Nice try. But just because I haven’t found a reliable source in New York doesn’t mean I don’t know the going rate,” he snarked.

Jack chuckled, and as Hart tried to bicker with Ianto, he pulled Okoye aside, slightly. “Is he all right?”

“What is he, to you?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Friend,” Jack sighed. “Likely the best I’ve ever had, not that I appreciated it, at the time. But I know when he’s sick, and he’s definitely not well.”

“He will be fine,” Okoye said. When Jack opened his mouth to push, she cut him off. “I am not his physician, but she has assured us all that he will be fine, and that will have to be enough, Captain.”

“Okay,” Jack nodded to her. “Thank you.”

“Jack, a word?” Ianto cast an apologetic glance at Okoye, who would now have to spend the next few minutes being chatted up by John Hart.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Fine,” Ianto brushed him off. “But I have a question.”

“Okay.”

“About the Year.”

Jack actually took a small step back. “What about it?”

“I need you to tell me what happened to me.”

“No way.”

“I’ve been having dreams, Jack. I need to know if they’re real, so I can deal with them.”

“Dreams?” Jack felt ill.

“Well, I think it came back to me, after Hydra fell. But it was all really vague. But now, the dreams have become vivid and… disturbing.”

Jack winced. Typical, for Ianto to understate the thing. If he had actually recalled the details, then ‘disturbing’ wouldn’t even begin to describe it.

“Ianto, I wish I could help you, but…”

“But you don’t want to,” Ianto nodded. “I get it, Jack. What happened to me was just a small part of what you had to endure, and I’m sorry to ask. It’s just,” Jack saw Ianto’s hand shake as he ran it through his hair.

He realized he had to man up and tell Ianto what he needed to know. “What are your questions?”

“He played you, me, and Gwen off one another.”

“Yes.” Jack looked uncomfortable.

“He… mutilated me,” Ianto said quietly.

“Yes.” He shifted his feet, looking like he felt ill.

“He and three UNIT guards…”

“Yes,” Jack cut him off with a growl.

“My eyes.”

“Yes,” now he almost sobbed, but quickly got himself under control.

Ianto breathed out, then nodded. He gave a sniff. “I can’t find any record of what happened to the three guards,” he said, and his voice wavered, slightly. He cleared his throat. “What…”

“You don’t ever need to worry about them,” Jack assured, and then his voice went hard. “Ever.”

Ianto looked at Jack. After a moment, the older man caved.

“They were still on the Valiant when I destroyed the paradox machine. So they remembered. They were put on the list of collaborators, to be tried for war crimes under a special commission. Sadly,” Jack put his hands in his pockets and toed the ground with a boot, “they all died slow and painful deaths in their cells under mysterious circumstances, before they could face trial.”

Ianto stared at Jack for a long moment, silent and inscrutable, behind the dark sunglasses. Then he let out a breath, and Jack was concerned he’d fall over. “Thank you,” he said, his voice rough.

“Least I could do,” Jack said, his own voice quiet.

“Not really. You owe me nothing, Jack.”

Jack winced. “He was wrong, you know.”

Ianto shrugged. “Doesn’t mean he wasn’t right.”

“Ianto…” Jack reached out, but in the next moment, drew back again.

“Jack?” a new voice called out, from a distance.

Jack cringed. Hart muttered something, under his breath. Ianto straightened, again.

Okoye, sensing a change in the air, resumed her spot next to Ianto.

“Jack, what’s going on? Mickey spotted readings on a cloaked aircraft, nearby.”

Okoye muttered something in Wakandan and tapped one of her Kimoyo beads.

“Not anymore,” Ianto chuckled.

“Ianto?” Gwen’s eyes widened, then narrowed as she heard Mickey say over the comms that they’d lost the signal. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice more accusatory than Okoye appreciated.

“Is he not allowed to visit his hometown?” she asked, her voice mild in that way that truly dangerous people seem to have mastered.

“Oh, that’s not…” Gwen took an instinctive step back.

“This man is a hero of Wakanda,” Okoye spat. “I will not hear you disrespect him.”

“A hero of…” Hart’s eyes widened. “You _have_ been busy, Eye Candy.”

“And I have had about enough of you, as well,” Okoye snarked, pointing a finger at Hart.

Jack chuckled. It always amazed him, even if it never surprised him, the loyalty that Ianto could inspire. Once again, he regretted not allowing himself to be so inspired.

“Stop,” Ianto muttered. “I can’t deal with your regrets today, Jack.”

“You look like shite,” Gwen said, eyeing Ianto up and down, obviously not sorry to see her former coworker not in the pink of health. Her eyes widened again at the low snarling sound Okoye made.

Just then, Jack, Hart, and Gwen all put their hands to their comms. “Sorry, rift alert,” Jack said. “Where, Mickey?”

“But that’s where we are,” Gwen said, looking around.

“Mickey, there’s nothing here,” Hart said.

Okoye looked up and gave a shout.

In the next moment, a piece of space junk about the size of a Volkswagon dropped from the sky, about fifty feet directly above them.

“Look out!” Jack said, but there was no time to move.

They all threw themselves to the ground, but then looked up in shock. Hart and Jack could see, as Okoye could, that the thing had bounced off of a beautiful, translucent silvery-blue tree.

“What the…” Jack muttered. He was the first to look over to Okoye and Ianto, to check on them. Okoye was getting to her feet and moving towards Ianto, who was…

Ianto was kneeling on the ground, his arms thrown over his head, wrapped in the dragon wings that had suddenly grown out of his back.

“Fuck me,” Hart exclaimed.

Yeah. 

That pretty much summed it up.

“Jack, what just happened?” Gwen asked.

“Not sure,” Jack prevaricated. “Go grab some containment equipment, and bring Mickey back, to help.”

“Yeah, okay,” she ran off.

“Ianto?” Jack knelt before him. “Care to explain?”

Ianto lowered his arms. His eyes were swirling with a silvery-blue light, and his nose was bleeding.

“Here,” Jack handed him a handkerchief.

“During the Battle of New York,” Ianto muttered.

“You were stabbed, right?” Jack said.

“By Loki,” Ianto nodded. “His scepter had something called the Mind Stone set in it. I touched it.”

“Oh, my Goddess,” Hart said, his eyes wide. “Oh, my Goddess.” He jumped up and sort of _bounced_ in place. “Oh, my Goddess!”

“He,” Okoye pointed, “is annoying.”

Ianto nodded in agreement.

“John?” Jack looked annoyed, as well.

“The Mind Stone, Jack! The twenty-first century. Earth. Terra. Sol3. Ian Tojones!” John gave a whoop. “Fucking historians!”

“Oh, Gods,” Jack looked at John, a faint smile forming. “No, way!” He looked at Ianto.

“What?” Ianto asked, wearily.

“Oh, no. Can’t say,” Hart crowed. “But… Oh, my Goddess!”

“Jack?” Ianto looked concerned, now.

“It’s nothing terrible,” Jack said. John gave a squawk, but Jack silenced him. “I can tell him what he already knows. What we learned in the Academy was that in the twenty-first century, several of the Infinity Stones were… found.”

“Careful, Jack,” Hart warned.

“Yes,” Ianto nodded. “The Tesseract, the Mind Stone, and I’m pretty sure I know who has the Time Stone.” At Jack’s grin, he went on. “We’ve heard from Thor that the Ether has been found, as well.”

“See? He already knows this.”

“So what don’t I know?” Ianto asked pointedly.

“C’mon, Ianto. I thought you knew everything?” Jack kidded, and Ianto shook his head, getting frustrated. “Okay, fine. We learned at the Academy all about a man who did not wield the Mind Stone, but had been imprinted by it. He revolutionized its use. That’s all.”

“And his name was Ian Tojones. Except the historians bollocksed it up, didn’t they?” Hart laughed. “Ianto Jones somehow morphed into Ian Tojones, and the Welsh Eye Candy turned Latin.” He laughed again.

“Hart, you actually know my name,” Ianto snarked. “I’m touched.”

“Hey, they got all the letters right, and in the right order,” Jack shrugged. “Probably for the best, that it’s not entirely accurate.”

“At least the bottles didn’t break,” Ianto was checking his shopping, to be sure nothing had been damaged. “Jack, as lovely as this has been, I think it’s a sign that I should stay away from Cardiff, if I can’t even visit for a half hour without having some bit of space junk land on me head.”

“Could be a resonance thing,” Hart said, looking thoughtful. “I mean, if something is pulled through the rift, it kind of makes sense, it would land near you, with your shiny _imprintedness_.” He started bouncing and laughing, again.

“That’s my cue,” Ianto stood, and Okoye subtly steadied him. “Hart, as always, it’s been…” he waved a hand noncommittally. “Jack, take care.”

Jack reached out and shook Ianto’s hand. “You too, Ianto.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, hope you enjoyed this longer installment. Hopefully it gives a hint of insight into Ianto's struggles, and how they're more than just physical. It's partly how much he needs contact when his reserves are depleted, partly that he was physically wrecked and barely beginning to recover when he took another hit during the battle, and partly what he has started to remember. 
> 
> Oh, and he misses the connection he'd begun to form, with Winter.
> 
> So... lots going on, but it'll get back on track, eventually. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy - let me know what you think! :)


	49. Chapter 49

As the Royal Talon Fighter touched down on the landing pad on the eighty-first floor of the Avengers Tower, Natasha, Clint, and Steve went out to meet it. Steve frowned at Bucky, who was hanging back, even as the others stepped forward to greet their handler, as well. 

Steve had noticed Bucky acting strangely, but his friend had remained tight-lipped over whatever had transpired in Wakanda to curb his enthusiasm towards Ianto. Steve was curious, but Bucky was still recovering, so he had decided to give his friend some space, for now. He could only hope that whatever had happened was not something that would affect the team.

Steve had tried to explain to the team (without telling Bucky) how ill Ianto had been, but nothing he told them could have prepared them for the frail creature who, leaning on Okoye’s arm, disembarked from the Wakandan jet.

“Ianto,” Natasha flung herself into her friend’s arms, and Clint had to steady the two as Ianto was too weak to keep his balance. She stepped back from the hug. “Sorry,” she grinned, not looking very sorry, at all.

“Good to see you, man,” Clint gave him one of those one-armed, back-slapping man-hugs.

“Good to be home,” Ianto said, his voice gravelly. 

“Ooh, sexy new vocal effects there,” Natasha teased.

“His voice was already plenty sexy,” Wanda rejoined with a laugh, hugging Ianto gently.

One by one, everyone greeted Ianto. Bucky gave him a ‘sup nod of the head, which Ianto returned with a small frown before quickly averting eye contact and firmly affixing his mask. Only Steve and Natasha seemed to clock this, but they were soon distracted again as Phil Coulson arrived.

“Agent Jones,” Phil shook Ianto’s hand and took a good look at his face. “Come on in and sit down, before you fall over.”

“I’ll just grab your stuff, so Okoye can be on her way,” Steve said, and followed her back to the RTF after receiving a quiet ‘thank you’ from Ianto. She gave Steve a look and shook her head when he asked how Ianto was. 

“He has not been himself since he awakened,” she quietly explained. “He is sore and fatigued, yes, but there is something else bothering him, as well.” She looked uncertain, then asked, “Might he and Sergeant Barnes have fallen out?”

“Maybe, but Bucky isn’t talking, either.” He shook his head. “It’s weird – he’s not angry. It’s more like… he’s ashamed.”

“Shame is a terrible thing,” she sighed. “I hope they figure this out, though. They were quite… happy, during those weeks they recovered, together.” She elbowed his arm. “You will keep us posted, yes?”

Steve grinned, happy to have another ally.

“I’m not sure if he mentioned,” she said, lifting the bags from their errands. “We stopped off in Cardiff. We ran into two… captains,” she said, the doubt clear in her voice that she did not believe either man actually held the rank he claimed.

Steve shrugged. He couldn’t point a finger, as his own rank hadn’t exactly been achieved via normal promotion. “Harkness and Hart, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder why?”

“I think he was there to see Harkness, to ask him something. But when we arrived, he kept coming up with errands to run, like he was putting off finding him. But then Hart found us and called Harkness, and Ianto asked his questions while Hart annoyed me. I did not hear what Ianto asked, but it seemed serious. Harkness actually looked… queasy.”

“That can’t be good,” Steve grabbed Ianto’s bags and Okoye followed with the shopping, so she could bid her friend farewell. When they reached the rec area, Ianto was slumped on the sofa as Coulson told him he needed to be checked out by a med team, either the one in the Avengers Tower or the one at SHIELD.

“’m tired of being treated like an invalid,” Ianto grumbled, and it was the closest any had ever seen him come to complaining. 

Bucky looked at Ianto and knew the younger man was feeling self-conscious about his self-described fragility. He frowned, wanting to say something reassuring, but he hesitated, knowing it wasn’t his place. He’d blown that chance. Or had it snatched away. 

He still wasn’t certain what exactly had happened.

“You are not an invalid, Agent Jones,” Vision said, his voice calm. “But there is a price each of us must pay, to wield the power we have been given. I believe that as you learn more about your power, you will be better able to wield it without doing so much harm to yourself.”

“What harm?” Bucky asked quietly. “Everyone seems to know, but me.”

“There’s a reason for that, Buck,” Steve said.

“I did promise, didn’t I?” Ianto said. “I promised that I would tell you, later.”

“You did,” Bucky crossed his arms in front of him. “And it’s later, now.”

“The thing is,” Ianto hissed as he heaved himself from the sofa and levelled a completely blank look at Bucky. “You won’t believe me when I say that I’m a man of my word, but I am. Also… It’s not later enough, yet.”

“Oh, come on!” Bucky growled, letting his frustration show. Then Ianto’s words sank in. “Wait. Why wouldn’t I believe you?” he asked, genuinely confused.

Ianto gave a derisive snort and turned to Okoye. “Thank you for everything,” he smiled. 

“Of course,” she returned the smile, then hugged him gently. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“And you, Sergeant,” she turned to Bucky, much more matter-of-fact. “Shuri says you should call her, if you have any questions or concerns. And she asked me to give this to you,” she handed him a jump drive. “This contains all the information that someone here would need to know about your prosthesis, should it require maintenance or repair.”

“Thank you,” Tony snatched the jump drive from Bucky’s hand and strode away, Bruce following eagerly. They’d both been salivating over the tech since Bucky had arrived.

Ianto turned and began shuffling towards the elevator.

“C’mon,” Natasha said, taking his arm and letting him lean on her, a bit. “You get unpacked and have a shower, and we’ll fix some dinner and bring it by.”

“I just want to go to bed,” Ianto demurred.

“No way,” she shook his head, then looked at Okoye. “When did he last eat?”

“He ate a half-slice of toast with some tea, for breakfast,” Okoye said. “And perhaps three bites of last evening’s meal.”

“See?” Natasha said cheerfully, ignoring everyone else’s looks of concern. “You’re probably hungrier than you realize.”

“I still want you checked out before you’re cleared for duty,” Phil called out.

“I won’t be cleared, if I’m checked out,” Ianto countered, “and you need me at that hearing, tomorrow.”

“It will be a limited clearance,” Phil hedged, knowing Ianto was correct. “Just the hearing, and then nothing more until you’re fully cleared.”

“I’ll go down to medical in the morning,” Ianto said. “What time are we expected?”

“Around two, I think. I’ll pick you up at half past one.”

“Coming to hold my hand?” Ianto smirked, and it was the first sign of _him_ that they had seen since he’d arrived. When Phil didn’t reply, Ianto turned to face him. “What.” Not a question, but he somehow knew the answer would not please him.

“Lampling’s defense is taking the scattershot approach. They’re attacking everyone who is giving testimony against him. Expect some xenophobic rants.”

“And what am I allowed to say, in my own defense?” Ianto asked, knowing full well that the OIG was not to be read in on much, if any, of Ianto’s history.

“Don’t worry. Director Fury is calling in a favor.”

“Does he really need to? Lampling was so far out of line, how is this not a foregone conclusion?”

“The CIA is, for the moment, backing him. It’s a ploy, because they’re tired of SHIELD outranking them, in the field.” 

“Should I call Matt and Foggy?” Ianto hadn’t been concerned, until this moment.

Phil reached out and grasped Ianto by the shoulder. “Ianto, this is not about you, okay? You have the full support of SHIELD, the Crown, and a rather impressive array of diplomatic contacts.”

“Is that a yes?”

Phil looked thoughtful. “Might not be a bad idea. Sends a message of you being the one attacked, rather than SHIELD. That’ll make them look bad.”

“Splendid,” Ianto snarked. “You need to tell me what I can and can’t say,” Ianto was starting to vibrate with stress.

“How about we have Phil join us at your place, for dinner?” Natasha proposed, knowing she needed to get Ianto out of there, now or sooner. “He can let you know. I’m sure it’s pretty straightforward.”

Ianto nodded and allowed himself to be led to the elevator.

“He looks terrible,” Wanda fretted, once the doors closed.

“He’ll be fine,” Steve said. “He just needs some time, to heal.”

***

Foggy and Matt joined them for dinner, as well. Matt was concerned by what he saw, but Foggy was appalled. Phil gave up after spending a half hour trying to show Ianto how to use the walking stick. They consulted for a few minutes, but it was, as Natasha predicted, fairly straightforward.

“Looks like Director Fury has already lined up a few character witnesses – names withheld – to precede your testimony,” Foggy said, looking over the agenda for the day. He sat back, finishing his wine. “And I hate to say it, but you looking so terrible can only help. The OIG let themselves be bullied into calling you in now, against your doctor’s advice. This will make them mad at the CIA defense team, for making them look bad.”

“Happy to help,” Ianto groused. He felt bone weary and incredibly dispirited.

***

Despite his exhaustion, Ianto didn’t sleep well, that night. He gave it up as a bad job around three in the morning, when wrested from yet another nightmare of a cackling madman with a dull knife and a sharp spoon.

He dressed in track pants and a t-shirt and made his way down to Myfanwy’s floor. She was very happy to see him, which was so gratifying that he ended up clinging to her and getting a bit weepy. He lay down on one of the (new) doggie beds and let her preen his hair. It was actually quite soothing, and he fell into a doze.

Ianto didn’t wake when Bucky approached, his own internal clock not yet used to New York time. Plus, he missed Ianto’s companionship. He felt pretty well, though there was a terrible sort of ache when he thought of the look on the drakon’s face, earlier.

He’d looked lost.

Myfanwy looked him over but didn’t stir when he walked over, standing there and watching the drakon’s restless sleep. He took a deep breath and turned, walking away. It hurt to think that Ianto saw him that way, but better to find out now.

***

Gin wanted to hospitalize Ianto the moment he entered the medical floor, the next morning. He handed her the jump drive from Shuri, detailing his illnesses and treatments, and she spent some time reviewing the information, along with her own scans, before standing in front of Ianto and wrapping her arms around him. 

“You must feel terrible,” she said, her voice quiet. “Are you in pain?”

“No, Shuri gave me an injection of something, yesterday. Said it should take forty-eight hours to metabolize it.”

Gin nodded. “So you’re not in pain, but… Are you sleeping?”

He shrugged, shaking his head. “Nightmares.”

“I have something that might help with that. The lab’s been working on some formulas that will actually work with accelerated metabolisms. So we might actually have some things that will work on you, Steve, and now Bucky.” She didn’t miss the slight flinch at the mention of the Sergeant’s name. Steve had told her about the estrangement between the two men over dinner the previous night. She ran a hand down Ianto’s arm comfortingly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I have to go,” he said. “Can you give me provisional clearance to attend the hearing, this afternoon?”

Gin sighed. “Can’t it be postponed? Your heart is still pretty weak. I’m not inclined to clear you for anything besides some gentle walking.”

“They’ve already disregarded Shuri’s recommendations,” Ianto tried to sit up a bit straighter. “I’ll be fine, Gin. But this is important.”

“So is your health, Ianto,” Gin replied heatedly. “You must allow your body to recover. You can push it too far, you know. Even now. _Especially_ now.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ianto repeated.

“Ianto, I’m not kidding! Your healing factor only goes so far. You’re only a panic attack away from a major cardiac event, and I can’t guarantee you can survive anything major, right now. Normally? Yeah. All day long. But you need to take care of yourself,” she placed a hand on his cheek. “ _Please_.”

“Gin, I don’t know what you want from me. I have to attend this hearing, today. I haven’t been doing anything stupid…”

“No, it’s been five whole days since you’ve taken a foolish risk,” she snarked. “Must be a new record!”

She stopped for a breath and saw Ianto shrinking into himself. She had never seen him do that, before. She immediately remembered the need to be gentle with him when his reserves were depleted and regretted her harsh tone. She knew he must feel terribly ill.

She sighed. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart. You know I don’t mean it. I’m just worried, okay?”

Ianto nodded, but didn’t look at her.

“Ianto,” she tilted her head to try to catch his eye. After what seemed like a very long time, he looked up at her and gave her a small smile before looking away again.

“’s all right, Gin,” he murmured. “I should be going, yeah?”

Before he could get off of the examination table again, she pulled him into her arms. Steve had said that touch and comfort helped Ianto to heal, and it was certainly no hardship to give the Welshman a quick cuddle.

He held onto her tightly, burying his face in her shoulder. She could tell he was struggling emotionally, but she knew that was normal, as well.

“Something terrible happened,” he whispered.

“I know, Sweetheart. But you’re healing. Just give it time.”

“No,” he shook his head, and pulled her closer. “In another timeline. It didn’t happen, not really. But I’ve been remembering pieces of it, anyway. I…” he sobbed. “It was really bad, Gin.”

“And those are the nightmares you’re having?” she asked, stroking his hair and ignoring where it was a bit stiff from pterosaur saliva.

He nodded.

“Can you tell me what happened?” she asked gently, but he still jerked in her arms as though she had struck him.

“Can’t,” he shook his head vehemently. “I keep remembering fragments. But never all of it. I can’t tell if that would be worse, or if remembering it properly would ease my mind, a bit. But even the fragments… I can’t…”

“Okay. That’s all right. You don’t have to,” she soothed. “Was it an accident, of some sort?’

He shook his head again. “T-torture.”

He couldn’t say more.

Gin held him for a long while before he finally withdrew, thanking her. He returned to his apartment and got ready for the hearing.

***

Natasha practically force-fed Ianto a nutritional shake before Phil arrived. He was tempted to heave it back up all over her, but he managed to keep it down, as there was no time to change. Knowing what he was thinking, she grinned at him and handed him a ginger chew, to settle his stomach.

Matt and Foggy met Phil and Ianto at the OIG offices in midtown. As they filed into the meeting room, Ianto immediately went on alert. Clearly, some sort of statement was being made, because it was not a meeting room, but rather a hearing chamber. 

The witness table that Ianto was led to sat in the center of the room. The committee’s desk, a long, curved thing that followed the back wall of the chamber, was elevated, and it loomed over the witness table. A large screen was set up along the wall to the left, on standby.

Foggy frowned. “You’re a witness for the complainant. Why are they acting like you’re the one on trial?”

“Because he is,” Matt answered, his voice low. “If they can discredit him and throw out the case, the CIA will have grounds to apply for a change in the pecking order, so they won’t have to defer to SHIELD, in future.”

“But the OIG is meant to be independent,” Foggy rejoined. “Why are they showing such blatant bias?”

“The committee chair is former CIA,” Phil said. “Bad luck, really. Should have recused himself, but here we are. You all right?” he asked Ianto, who was leaning against the walking stick and the chair. They had to wait for the entire committee to take their seats, before they could follow suit.

Ianto gave a tight nod as they finally sat.

“So,” the committee chair said, opening the meeting. “We are here to question SHIELD Agent Ianto Jones regarding…” he trailed off as the gallery behind the witness table filled. 

The four men at the table turned and saw the Avengers (including Thor) file in and sit, along with Pepper and Bucky. Nick Fury and Everett Ross entered the chamber and took seats, as well. Ianto turned back to see that the chair was taken aback, at this development.

“Okay, close the doors, please. I am calling this hearing to order.”

“Hearing?” Foggy asked. “This is a witness statement, is it not?”

“It is the testimony portion of the overall hearing,” the chair replied. “Who are you?”

“Franklin Nelson. And this is Matthew Murdock. We are here to represent Agent Jones.”

“And why does Agent Jones feel the need for independent counsel?” the chair asked, a mean gleam in his eyes.

“Because he has been forced to appear, against medical advice, to give testimony that could be obtained by a simple deposition,” Foggy answered smoothly. “As his best interests are being disregarded by this body, he felt it wise to seek counsel.”

“And SHIELD approves of this?” the chair turned to Phil, who looked amused.

“The more, the merrier, as far as we’re concerned,” he answered. “After all, we all know why we’re really here.”

There was a ripple through the committee, clearly already at odds over how the investigation was being handled.

Well, it was clear to Ianto, anyway.

“We are really here because your agent overstepped his authority,” the chair sneered.

“If he did so, shouldn’t that be a separate hearing?” Foggy spoke up, again. “He is here to give witness testimony regarding Officer Lampling’s behavior.”

“And overstepping his authority speaks to his credibility as a witness,” the chair replied smoothly. “As far as we’re concerned, there is no case against Officer Lampling, if Agent Jones overstepped.”

“And why was Agent Jones not informed of that, in order to be prepared to respond?” Matt spoke up, his voice harsh.

“He should be prepared to respond to any questions put to him by this body,” the chair replied. He made a show of looking at his watch. “I am told that character witnesses will be called on Agent Jones’ behalf. However, the first is having technical difficulties, and it will be a few minutes before they can join us. So in the meantime, we shall begin questioning the witness.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so next up is the hearing. Slightly soapy tangent, but I promise there will be no evil twins or cases of amnesia. Only one cliche at a time, right? Haha
> 
> Hope you enjoy - give me a shout, let me know what you think! :)


	50. Chapter 50

“…we shall begin questioning the witness.”

There was another ripple through the room. Ianto leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. 

“Agent Jones, on May 17th, did you order Task Force Commander Lampling to stand down from the investigation into the bombing of the United Nations Summit in Vienna?”

“I did.”

“On what grounds did you do so?”

“SHIELD has the authority to run point on such investigations. We already had more information than Task Force Commander Lampling, so it made sense for us to proceed.”

“And are you aware, that in giving Task Force Commander Lampling that order, you violated Section 57b, Subsection 3, Paragraph M of the 34th Article from the Interagency Prioritization Manual?” The chair pointed a stubby finger at the relevant passage in the huge tome open before him.

Matt began quietly tapping at his laptop to pull up the paragraph in question as Foggy frowned at such a blatant ambush tactic. Coulson shifted in his seat, but Ianto merely raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see how I could have. The paragraph states that the CIA becomes the default investigative body, only if there is a viable suspect, and that suspect is a known, wanted criminal.”

Everyone stared.

Before the chair could recover, Ianto continued. “There was not a viable suspect when I gave the order.”

“No, you just had a clear bias against investigating a legitimate suspect.”

“If clear bias means that I had proof that the CIA’s chief suspect could not have been involved.” Ianto shrugged. He heard Clint and Pietro snickering, behind him.

“And did you provide that proof to Task Force Commander Lampling?”

“I informed him of the fact that his so-called suspect was in a city over six hundred and fifty miles away, an hour before the bombing.”

“But what proof did you provide?”

“Verbal communication is all that is required under Section 57b, Subsection 3, Paragraph Q of the 34th Article,” Ianto replied. “Sir.” Now he heard Tony stifle a laugh behind a cough.

The chair pulled the book towards him and took a moment to find and read the paragraph. He looked up at Ianto, then to his fellow committee members, reluctantly nodding to them that this was, indeed, correct.

“And why did you have the suspect under surveillance?”

“The mistakenly identified war hero, you mean,” Foggy interjected.

“That is a classified matter that has no relevance to these proceedings,” Coulson answered.

Ianto cleared his throat. “Look. Lampling was legitimately ordered to stand down, and he refused to do so. To my knowledge, that is the extent of this committee’s concern.”

Another ripple made its way around the table, and one committee member nodded. “He’s right.”

“We are also here to address the serious allegations Agent Jones also made against Task Force Commander Lampling,” the chair spoke over the mutterings in the chamber, most of which were now coming from the committee. “Another overreach.”

“I think you mean, one alleged overreach, since the other has already been disproved,” Foggy clarified.

“Agent Jones,” the chair said, speaking over the chuckles in the gallery, “You accused Task Force Commander Lampling of receiving money from the man accused of the bombing. How did you obtain your proof?”

“By finding a _legitimate_ suspect, Helmut Zemo, and tracing his bank activity,” Ianto replied. “Zemo subsequently confessed to the bombing. The recipient of several sizable transfers from Zemo’s accounts was Lampling, which explains his eagerness to chase down false leads, and his reluctance to turn the investigation over to SHIELD, when ordered to do so. And the damage done in taking Sergeant Barnes into custody in Bucharest lands squarely in the lap of the CIA, as a result.”

“What is your role in SHIELD, Agent Jones?”

“Is that relevant?” Ianto frowned.

“Yes, because I don’t trust you!” the chair blurted.

Ianto blinked.

“Carl, you’re out of line,” one of the other committee members said.

“Am I? SHIELD allowed Hydra to fester inside of it, for years! How are we to know that it’s been completely eradicated? Are we meant to just take their word for it? And now we have a decorated CIA Officer being accused by this stranger, this _foreigner_. How do we know this isn’t just a new way of undermining our agencies?”

Matt whacked Foggy on the arm. Foggy read his screen and his eyes grew wide. He grinned like it was Christmas.

“Decorated?” Foggy chuckled into the ensuing silence. “Lampling has one commendation in his file, for attendance.” As the laughter in the room died down, he added, “And here’s something else that’s interesting. His training officer was one Carl Waring. Tell me, Mr. Waring, why did you not recuse yourself from this investigation?”

“I am completely unbiased!” Waring stuttered.

“Clearly,” Foggy deadpanned.

In the next moment, the large screen to the left blinked to life. A familiar face smiled into the camera. “Hello! Can you see me?”

Ianto scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide. Coulson grabbed his chair to keep it from rolling across the room.

“Ah, Agent Jones! So good to see you.”

“Your Majesty,” Ianto bowed to the screen as his Queen smiled at him.

Her smile faded as she got a good look at him. “For heaven’s sake, Ianto. Sit down, before you fall over!”

“Ma’am,” Ianto sat, relieved to do so because he had stood too quickly, and the room had begun to spin.

Everyone stared in shock as Elizabeth the Second (by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith) fussed over the Welsh SHIELD Agent like he was her favorite Corgi. Once he assured her he was well (to which assurance she raised a dubious eyebrow) she turned to the committee, quietly seething.

“We demand to know who is responsible for endangering the health and well-being of one of our subjects!”

“I am the chair of this committee,” Waring said, his face almost purple.

“Your name?”

“Carl Waring.”

“Well, Mr. Waring, consider yourself warned. If _anything_ happens to Agent Jones as a result of being forced to appear here, against medical advice, heads will roll, do you hear?” She leaned into the camera and scowled. “And on this side of the so-called pond, that is _not_ just a figure of speech!” She pressed her palms to her desk and rose, facing down the camera, looking every inch the forbidding monarch that she was. “Am I clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Waring said, his eyes wide.

Tony was wheezing, his head almost in Pepper’s lap. “Pepper, I’m sorry, but I think I’m in love!”

“Shush,” she said, joining the others in trying not to laugh.

“Splendid,” the Queen said, reverting once more to her sweet grandmotherly persona and resuming her seat. “Now, we understand that you are in need of a character reference for Agent Jones.” She paused, allowing Waring to gape like a guppy before proceeding. “Agent Jones was first brought to our attention in 2003, at the age of twenty.”

Ianto’s head jerked up, his eyes widening in surprise before he could school his expression.

“We have watched his career carefully, and met him in person for the first time, in 2006.” She paused and turned to Ianto. “Was that August, or September, Dear?”

“September, Ma’am,” Ianto smiled. He remembered Jack ambushing him with the visit, so he wouldn’t be nervous, beforehand.

“Just so. In 2007, he was our sole point of contact for the organization he represented until its leader returned from a… special assignment.”

Phil saw Ianto’s head give that strange tick, and wondered what that was about.

“In 2008, we gave him permission to move to SHIELD, where he has served with distinction. And last November, he was awarded the Victoria Cross for meritorious service. The details are classified, but I assure you, we do not grant the highest award in our land, lightly. I trust Agent Jones implicitly, and if his current situation were not so perfectly suited for his abilities, then I would have him in my own service.”

Ianto stared at her, his eyes welling with tears. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

She smiled kindly, then looked back to the committee, who all looked a bit gobsmacked. “There. Will that suffice as a character reference, do you think?” She did not wait for an answer, turning back to Ianto. “My Dear, when you are recovered, come to tea. I’ll have Christopher arrange it.”

“Ma’am.”

The screen went blank, and everyone stared for a moment.

“That was a big favor to call in,” Ianto muttered, once he recovered.

“Worked, didn’t it?” Phil replied. “Besides, he didn’t even have to call in a favor. She jumped at the chance, when he told her what they were up to.”

Ianto sniffed, and Phil leaned back, giving him a moment to collect himself.

The woman to Waring’s right, a Dr. Fallon, was the first to regroup. She spoke up, “We will address personal biases on this committee, when we break. However, I believe that because Mr. Waring has posed the question, it must be answered. Agent Jones, were you recruited to Hydra?”

Ianto looked to Phil, who nodded.

“Twice.”

“See?” Waring crowed, triumphant. “I told you!”

“Explain,” Fallon said, her voice calm.

“As Her Majesty implied, I started at a different agency, based in London. In April of 2006, one of Hydra’s people embedded in that agency tried to recruit me.”

“And what exactly was your response?”

“My exact response?” Ianto’s eyes widened, but then he shrugged. “I told him to go fuck himself.”

When the laughter died down, Fallon said, “I was under the impression that turning down a position with Hydra was not an option.”

“The recruiter tried to remove my memory of the offer, not realizing that I was immune to the chosen method of doing so.”

“And the second time?”

“I accepted the offer, in order to work as a mole and gather enough information to be able to eradicate Hydra.”

“That was you?” another committee member asked.

“It was,” Nick Fury announced, standing and striding forward. “Which brings us to the ‘if any of you ever breathes a word of this outside of this room, I’ll have you charged with treason’ portion of the character references.”

“You’re here as a character reference?” Waring blustered.

“Why else would I be here? Agent Jones has answered all of your questions more than adequately, and your little ploy has failed.” Fury smirked. “Nice try, with the Manual. Too bad you didn’t realize you were questioning the punchline to the joke, ‘what does an insomniac with an eidetic memory do, rather than count sheep?’”

Dr. Fallon looked at her agenda. “I see a number of time slots here, for character witnesses. I’m not certain that will be necessary, but for the record, can we have a list?”

“Sure,” Fury smirked, then gestured to the gallery. “Besides me, there’s Virginia Potts, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, the Vision, Sam Wilson, Colonel James Rhodes, Wanda Maximoff, and Pietro Maximoff. Also, King T’Challa of Wakanda is standing by, to call in.”

The most that anyone outside Fury’s circle of trust knew was that the man who had infiltrated and brought down Hydra was now the Avengers’ handler. This was confirmation that the committee had just allowed Waring to go after someone who was well-nigh untouchable. 

The committee retired for a quarter hour, and when they returned, Dr. Fallon was the new chair. Waring was gone.

“In reviewing the evidence, and in light of Agent Jones’ demonstrated knowledge of the Interagency Prioritization Manual, it is clear that the complaint SHIELD lodged on May 17th was valid, and the charges against former Task Force Commander Lampling are serious enough to warrant prosecution. The evidence will be forwarded to the proper authorities, to ensure that happens.”

“Assuming he hasn’t skipped town in the _month_ since this went down,” Tony muttered.

“No worries, there,” Ross smirked. “I know _exactly_ where he is.”

Dr. Fallon turned to Ianto. “Agent Jones, we apologize for how this was handled. It should have waited until you were fully recovered from your illness, and it should have been a straightforward witness statement, not an attack on your character. 

“The Office of the Inspector General is meant to be an unbiased resource, when this sort of issue arises. Mr. Waring should have recused himself, for multiple reasons, and the blatant political agenda that has emerged from how he attempted to skew the evidence presented to the rest of the committee has highlighted the need for an internal investigation.”

The other committee members spoke up, apologizing to Ianto and thanking him for his assistance. After enduring it as best he could, Ianto was relieved when the hearing was adjourned.

***

Back at the Avengers Tower, Natasha and Wanda had taken great delight in divesting Ianto of his suitcoat, waistcoat, tie, shirt, belt, and shoes. Wanda even went as far as untucking his vest for him.

“Sit,” she ordered, pushing him onto the sofa.

Ianto collapsed onto it with a groan, falling over sideways and then drawing his feet up. Curled up like a cat, he almost immediately fell asleep. Natasha sat next to his head, carding her fingers through his hair. She had learned long ago that this seemed to ward off nightmares.

The others sat around, discussing the hearing. 

“That was complete and utter bullshit,” Clint declared. “How did that Waring asshole think he’d get away with it?”

“He thought he’d recite some obscure code and catch us flat-footed,” Foggy said, accepting a beer from Sam with a nod of thanks.

“Which he did,” Matt observed as he was handed a beer of his own.

“Not Ianto,” Phil pointed out. He shook his head. “You could have knocked me over with a feather, when he started reciting that stupid passage back to Waring.”

“So the entirety of Waring’s plan was to say the code was disregarded,” Pepper pointed out, “but he’d have had to explain the code, and Ianto still had a valid argument as to why he hadn’t.”

“I have a feeling his explanation of the code would have been less than complete,” Phil said. 

Bucky headed to the windows and looked out at the rainy evening. It felt strange, being back in New York. He and Steve were going to go exploring – they’d already been to a couple of places, after Bucky had given his testimony.

That whole hearing had been a farce. And Drakon… _Ianto_ had handled himself so impressively. Bucky turned and leaned against the window, staring down at the younger man, asleep on the sofa. There was something beautiful about how his mind worked, and it was fun to watch the fools people made of themselves, underestimating him.

Bucky felt that terrible ache inside again, and wanted nothing more than to have a long, quiet talk with his… with Ianto. But then his shame overpowered him, once more. 

Steve looked from Bucky to Ianto. “Is he asleep?” he asked Natasha.

Natasha nodded. She saw Bucky watching her, looking a bit twitchy. She raised an eyebrow, and he looked away. Her eyes found Steve’s, and he shrugged.

“All I’m saying, though,” Tony said, heading towards the sofas from the kitchen with a glass of scotch, “is that if Phil steps out of line, I’m gonna go sweep Liz off her feet.”

“Oi. You annoy my Queen in any way,” came a rough voice in a broader accent than they normally heard, “and I’ll thump ya, good an’ proper.”

***

Ianto ate a bit of soup as everyone else had pizza and sandwiches. The smell of the food turned his stomach, but he needed to be near his friends, so he endured it, as best he could. Not long after they cleared up from dinner, he made his excuses.

Natasha and Clint rose to accompany him. Gin, who had joined them for dinner, headed for the elevator, holding Steve’s hand. Bucky trailed along, as well. He now lived in Clint’s old apartment (the latter had moved in with Natasha, across the hall, the previous month).

Ianto was leaning on Natasha as they walked towards his door. He lost his balance, and found himself falling against Bucky, who was turning the key in his own lock.

“Sorry,” Ianto murmured. He straightened, then nodded at Bucky. “Sergeant.”

As he turned away, Bucky lost it. “Sergeant?”

Ianto stopped and turned back to Bucky. “Problem?”

“Yeah. You called me _Sergeant_.”

Ianto was _over_ it. He was done, dealing with emotionally unavailable men who couldn’t be arsed to listen to him. “You panic, make up some story in your head about what I said, and push me away, and now _you’re_ mad, that I’m being distant?”

Bucky blinked. “Yes.”

The others were either gaping or trying really hard to pretend they weren’t there as the silence between the two men finally broke. It was hard to say whether it was a relief or a menace.

“You were terrified, and tried to cover by rushing things,” Ianto said, trying to observe more than accuse.

It didn’t work.

“Yeah, well excuse me if I was choking on the _pity_ rolling off of you.”

“That wasn’t pity, you dozy git,” Ianto growled. He stepped closer to Bucky and said, “I think you should take a moment and recall what I actually said, rather than whatever script you were acting out, in your imagination.” 

He reached up and plucked Bucky on the forehead, like he was testing a melon for ripeness. “I know it’s somewhere in that steel trap of yours,” he snarked.

In the next moment, Bucky heard Ianto’s voice in his head, his words from that day. _I don’t think there’s any need to rush this. I’m not saying I don’t want you, because I do. But it just feels… It feels too soon for m…_

Bucky stepped back from Ianto. “You were trying to say it was too soon,” he said. “Who were you, to say what I was or wasn’t ready for?”

“Yes, you were completely ready,” Ianto snarked. “Not rushing, a damn bit.”

Bucky drew breath to argue, but in that moment, he knew Ianto was right. He watched as Ianto ran a shaking hand through his hair and stepped away. As he turned, he spoke quietly.

“But maybe I wasn’t talking about _you_ not being ready, you styfnig twpsyn.”[1]

“What?” Bucky watched as Ianto gently brushed Natasha off and entered his apartment, shutting the door on all of them.

***

[1] Stubborn fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 50! I can't believe it! Thanks so much to everyone who's still with me! Hope you're enjoying it as much as I've enjoyed writing it, so far. :)
> 
> As promised, a slightly soapy hearing. Ianto's not feeling very heard or validated, at the moment, which isn't helping with his recovery or the PTSD of remembering the Year. 
> 
> That's up next, and I'm apologizing up front for how ugly it's going to get...
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	51. Chapter 51

“What?” Bucky said again, wondering what the hell had just happened. Ianto was tired and ill enough that he had projected his feelings before shutting his door. Bucky realized it wasn’t pity he had sensed, that day. It was a deep and nameless ache, and there was no word to describe it. It wasn’t pity, or shame. Perhaps the closest he could get was horror.

“I don’t think we should leave him alone,” Steve said, reaching out to grasp Bucky’s shoulder. Now he understood, at least in part, what must have happened.

“No,” Gin agreed. “He told me,” she looked around, uncertain as to whether she should share this. Ianto had confided in her, and it was likely a tossup as to whether it had been in her role as friend or medical worker. She decided that since she had been holding him like a child at the time, it was friend, and she felt it right to share this with his other friends, so they could try to help. 

“He has recently remembered something that happened in a different timeline.”

“A different timeline?” Bucky frowned.

“Wait. Jack Harkness mentioned something about an aborted timeline, right?” Steve asked, and Natasha and Clint nodded. “He said it was probably close enough to this timeline that the trauma of the experience impacted Ianto, broadening his psychic abilities. And Ianto’s stop in Cardiff wasn’t actually for shopping, it was to ask Harkness some questions. Questions that Okoye said made him look ill, to be asked.”

“He mentioned torture,” Gin said quietly. “Said it was really bad.”

“When did he start remembering?” Natasha looked at Gin, who shook her head.

Bucky had a feeling he knew. “I think it was in Wakanda. There were a lot of nightmares.” He shook his head. “The night before he recovered enough for his avatars to return, he was projecting them. There was one – it was kind of… murky. He was manacled, and there was a madman that looked like Harold Saxon.” He shook his head, frowning. “But it went black before he projected anything beyond that image.”

“The Master,” Steve said, explaining how the mad Time Lord had almost destroyed the planet in the aborted timeline. “I wonder if what you saw was the beginning of what he has started to remember.”

Bucky nodded. “That would make sense. Most of what he projected, he didn’t seem that bothered. Like he was covering old ground – unpleasant, but familiar. But some of the dreams after his avatars returned… They really unsettled him.”

Natasha and Steve stared at one another for a few moments, then without another word, they headed into Ianto’s apartment, Gin and Clint following closely. After a moment’s hesitation, Bucky followed, as well. Natasha leaned into Ianto’s bedroom, then frowned and came back out again, closing the door softly behind her.

Clint turned on the television and set the volume low, pretending to make himself at home, but his wary body language gave him away. “What?” he asked.

“He’s asleep,” Natasha said, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

“That was quick,” Gin remarked.

“What?” Clint asked again.

“He threw his trousers on the floor and just sort of fell across the bed.”

Clint sat up from where he had slouched. “Shit.”

“What?” Gin asked.

“Drakon doesn’t like mess,” Bucky muttered, looking at the bedroom door. “And he does not treat his clothing that way.”

Clint and Natasha shared a raised-eyebrow look.

“Dragon?” Steve asked, not managing the Russian pronunciation Bucky used.

Bucky sat down, choosing a place on one of the sofas from which he could watch the bedroom door. He looked at Steve. “The first time I saw Ianto was on the maiden flight of the helicarrier,” he said. “The day he was blooded.”

At Gin’s wide eyes, he added, “He was initiated into Hydra by killing Harkness.”

Natasha cleared her throat, but Steve spoke up. “Gin is read in. SHIELD vetted her when she was added to the Avengers Tower medical team.”

Bucky nodded, then explained. “Harkness doesn’t stay dead, so it wasn’t anything permanent.” He hesitated, remembering that Ianto hated how lightly people took Harkness’ immortality. 

“Still gave Ianto a bad moment,” Steve said quietly. He looked at Gin to explain, “He used to work with Harkness. Used to be close, so he knows that just because Jack comes back doesn’t mean dying doesn’t hurt.”

“Wait. Is this his ex, Jack?”

They stared at her, and she shrugged. “You date someone, you hear at least a bit about their exes, right?” She turned back to Bucky. “And that day was the first time you met him?”

Bucky looked at his hands, clasped in his lap. “I was lost,” he said quietly. “Buried so deep inside the Soldier that it was like looking through a foggy glass. And then the Soldier looked at Ianto and…” he shook his head. “Suddenly, I could see through the glass. It was still there, but somehow _I_ had more clarity.”

“Makes sense. Even then, he was a powerful passive empath,” Natasha said.

Bucky nodded. “Pierce wanted a weapon, so I handed him one. That caught Ianto’s eye, and he looked at me. I…” he shook his head again. “It was the first time someone ever looked at the Soldier and still recognized _me_.” 

He stopped speaking for a moment, overwhelmed by emotion. He had to clear his throat, before continuing. “And my first impression of him was that he was a mad drakon, wearing human skin.”

“You saw that aspect of him, even before he developed his avatar?” Steve asked.

Bucky shrugged.

“That explains how you were so good,” Natasha sat, looking at Bucky. Since he had arrived, she had realized that he was nothing like the assassin she had tangled with. Yes, the Soldier was still with them, but so was Bucky. He had successfully blended those two sides, and the result was a soft-spoken, snarky, funny, thoughtful man who would most likely be the next to join the Avengers.

But she had also noticed that there had been something off, since Bucky had arrived. And then she realized what that was, when Ianto returned. If Ianto was in the room, Bucky’s eyes were on him. That, or studiously _not_ following him. Ianto was the same way. Both men seemed miserable, and she wondered how those few weeks in Wakanda could have allowed for so much heartache at whatever had gone wrong.

And it seemed that what had gone wrong had been a simple misunderstanding. But both men were hurting, and she could only hope that they would figure things out, now that they had actually talked.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

Natasha nodded to Bucky, who was looking at her. “He’s got some sort of intuitive ability. Has to help, in the field. Did Hydra not realize?”

Bucky shook his head. “It wasn’t something the Soldier could have articulated. And they wouldn’t have allowed him to, anyway.”

“Does it help, to speak of the Soldier as someone separate?” Gin asked.

“All those years, he _was_ someone separate,” Bucky explained. “The person who used to be Bucky was trapped, locked away in the corner of the mind of the Soldier.”

“And now?” Her curiosity was so gentle, he could not feel pressured or take offense. 

He had already begun to tease Steve about Gin as mercilessly as Steve had teased him about Ianto, in Wakanda. That seemed like so long ago, and he missed his drakon. He could only hope he could eventually make it right…

He shook his head, to clear it. “Now, I am both. Bucky and the Soldier, blended together. Everything that could be called personality, memory, humanity, that’s Bucky. But the skills and abilities and memories of the Soldier are here, too. I’m not really one or the other, any more. 

“The Bucky that fell from the train is gone. Or he’s still here, but he was imprisoned for a long time, so he’s not the same guy. And the Soldier is here, but so much of what he was is down to what Hydra made him, and what was left once he was freed is not what Hydra created. 

“So I’m both, but neither is what anyone expects, so it’s easier to just talk about the parts, and explain why they’re not what people think they should be.” He frowned and looked around the room. He saw nothing but open, accepting expressions, though Steve’s had more sympathy than he felt like he could deal with, at the moment. “Crazy, right?”

“Actually, that was incredibly articulate, and far more stable and sane than I would have ever expected, knowing what you’ve been through,” Gin said. When he shifted uncomfortably, she added, “And you need to use that intuition of yours to discern between compassion and pity. Your friends are allowed to be sorry that you went through all of that. Doesn’t mean we look down on you, and doesn’t mean we think you’re in any way ‘less than’.”

Bucky looked at her, dubious.

“Did Ianto tell you what happened when he was ten?” Steve asked, seemingly out of the blue.

“Yeah,” Bucky answered, uncertain where this was going.

“And you felt bad, that that happened to him, right?”

Bucky nodded, looking towards the bedroom door, again.

“You think any less of him, because of what happened?”

“Of course not!” Bucky blurted, looking sharply back at Steve.

Steve smirked and sat back, grasping Gin’s hand.

And just like that, the penny dropped.

“There it is,” Clint grinned.

“Seems you can, in fact, teach an old dog a new trick,” Natasha chuckled as Bucky flipped her off.

***

They had been there for an hour or so, talking quietly and drinking Ianto’s beer. They were debating whether to leave him to his rest or take shifts in watching over him when they were interrupted. Ianto’s dragon seemed to wander into the room, looking… strange. Its expression seemed horrified, and Bucky was reminded once again of the feeling Ianto had projected before entering his apartment, earlier.

Then, the dragon just seemed to collapse, disappearing as it fell.

“Drakon!” Bucky was the first on his feet and into the bedroom. Ianto was on the floor, as though he had gotten up, but then fallen over. They had not heard him fall. As they gathered around him, they heard voices, and realized he was projecting a nightmare.

***

_“Okay, Freak. I have some visitors for you, today,” came the sing-song voice of Harold Saxon, whom they now knew to be the mad Time Lord called the Master._

_Four people were dragged into what appeared to be a conference room, their hands bound in front of them. Ianto was standing between Owen Harper and Toshiko Sato._

_“Jack!” Gwen Cooper cried out._

_Jack stood, bound with manacles around his wrists, the chain connecting them attached to another suspended from the ceiling._

_“Oh, this will be so much fun,” the Master clapped his hands with glee._

_As the UNIT soldiers filed out the room, Ianto sprang into action. He had worked his hands free from their binding, dislocating his thumb in the process, by the looks of it. He reached out and grabbed Toshiko by the head, wrenching it hard enough to break her neck. Gwen screamed and the soldiers came running back, but before Toshiko hit the floor, Ianto had grabbed one of the Toclafane flying at him._

_It was a practiced move, showing it was something he had done, before._

_He grabbed it by the arm holding the knife and, using its own momentum, swung it around and slashed Owen’s throat with it, before turning it loose. It turned to attack, but the Master, who had been staring, wide-eyed at the surprise attack, snapped back into action and ordered it off. Instead, he called on the soldiers._

_Ianto turned to Gwen, but before he could get to her, the soldiers were on him. He fought them wildly, kicking one’s knee hard enough to down him and clobbering another before they were able to subdue him. They hit and kicked him, and used what appeared to be cattle prods until he was subdued._

_Gwen was kneeling over Owen’s body, having been trying to keep him from bleeding out. “What is wrong with you?” she screamed at Ianto as the soldiers hauled him to his knees beside her and manacled his wrists. He almost managed to get the chain around Gwen’s neck before they hauled him up and attached the chain between his manacles to one suspended from the ceiling._

_Now trussed facing Jack, Ianto raised his head and spat blood as he looked to Jack. Jack nodded to him, clearly approving of what he had done. Gwen’s eyes widened, and she looked from Jack back to Ianto, whose face was that awful mask._

_The Master had been inspecting the bodies. Toshiko had died instantly. Owen had bled out in seconds. Both deaths almost completely painless._

_He was livid._

_“How dare you destroy my toys before I could even play with them!” he screeched._

_Ianto stood tall despite the beating he had just taken, his arms stretched above his head._

_“Oh, you will pay for this,” the Master sneered. “Now I’ll just have to get three times the fun, out of just you.”_

***

On the bedroom floor, Ianto let out a whimper, though his dream self continued to stare, impassive. Bucky sat next to Ianto and hauled him into his lap.

“Drakon?” He gave Ianto a gentle shake. “You need to wake up, now.”

Ianto didn’t respond. Bucky wasn’t surprised, but he knew he had to keep trying. One thing he knew for sure was that he did _not_ want to witness how this memory unfolded.

***

 _“Eleven months, I’ve been looking for you four,” the Master looked from Ianto to Gwen. “You_ two _, now. Eleven months, and now I finally have you. I think we should celebrate,” he smiled, pulling a small bottle from his pocket and tossing it to the soldier nearest him._

_The soldier opened the bottle and shook out a pill, then smiled, swallowing it and passing the bottle to the man next to him, who followed suit. The third man swallowed a pill and tossed the bottle back to the Master._

_The Master looked at Gwen, who was staring back at him, her eyes wide with fear. “Do you know why this one killed your friends?” When Gwen shook her head, he smiled. “That’s sweet.” He looked back at Jack. “She really doesn’t, does she?”_

_Jack was standing, stony faced. He refused to answer._

_The Master placed a hand on the side of her head and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was smiling unpleasantly. “Oh, now that_ is _interesting.”_

_He moved to stand before Ianto, but two of the soldiers had to hold him steady before the Master could try to read him. He frowned. “Ah, you’ve had some training, I see. You’re very strong, for a human. And your timeline looks strange.” He frowned, then it cleared. “Oh, fight all you like. As strong as you are, you’re no Time Lord.”_

_He released Ianto and turned, walking to the corner and backhanding the elderly man sitting in a wheelchair, there. “Stop interfering!”_

_He stalked back, where the soldiers once more had to force Ianto to hold still. “That’s better,” the Master crooned. “Tell me…” He frowned again. “Stop fighting!” he shouted. He stepped back and nodded to the soldiers, who spent the next few moments beating Ianto insensible._

_When the Master stepped back, Ianto was hanging by his wrists from the manacles, only half conscious. “Still fighting,” the Master said, his voice almost impressed. “Ah. Potential timeline, it must have been. Ooh, one of the stones? Well, that’s too bad. That might have been interesting. But I have something more fun in store, for you.”_

_It took a quarter hour and two more beatings before the Master was able to get anything from Ianto. In doing so, he shredded Ianto’s defenses, enabling him to cause pain telepathically._

_He gave Gwen a wink, then wandered over to the bodies, signaling for the soldiers to take them away. He pointed from one body to the next, as they were carried out. “Toshiko Sato and Dr. Owen Harper,” then he pointed at Gwen, “and Gwen Cooper. But who,” he turned to Ianto, “are you?”_

_Ianto didn’t even flinch. He was back to staring straight ahead._

_“I’ve heard all about the others,” the Master said. “You’d think that in eleven months, the Freak would have mentioned you, as well.”_

_“Ianto, don’t listen to him. Whatever he says, it’s just to screw with you,” Jack broke his silence, and the Master pulled a gun and shot him in the head._

_Gwen screamed._

_Ianto stared._

_The Master waited for Jack to revive. That was part of the fun, after all._

_He turned to Gwen. “What’s his name?”_

_Gwen blinked. “Ianto,” she said. “Ianto Jones.”_

_“So, Ianto Jones,” the Master turned back to Ianto. “Tell us who you love.”_

_Ianto blinked. That was unexpected. But now he knew what the Master wanted, and he wasn’t going to give it, if he could help it. A backhand and a good bit of telepathic pain wrung an answer from his lips, a quarter hour later._

_“Me nan,” he finally confessed, much to the Master’s consternation. He kept at it, only to spend more than two hours to have Ianto admit he loved his mother, Lisa Hallett, and someone called Myfanwy._

_By this point the Master was furious. Even Gwen was begging Ianto to just tell him what he wanted to know. But the Master had a better idea. He reached over and punched Gwen, hard. Then he pulled out his sonic laser and used a low setting to burn one of her arms. As her screams died down, the Master turned back to Ianto._

_“Who do you love?” the Master sang._

_“Jack,” Ianto said, knowing resistance would be harder, from here on in. He didn’t look up to see Jack’s expression of sorrow._

_“Jack?” the Master feigned surprise. “You love the freak?” He glanced back at Jack, who stood expressionless. “But according to Gwen here, Jack loves her!”_

_Ianto stared straight ahead._

_“Now, I’d be willing to wager that the freak doesn’t actually love anyone. But I think he is rather fond of his pets. Sadly, he can only keep one, and that one not for very long. So who should we let him keep?” he looked at the soldiers._

_They all laughed. “Keep the one that’ll take the most kicking,” one sneered._

_The Master laughed, as well. “Yes, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to get your kicks in, no matter which one we keep. I think we should keep the one he loves the most.” He turned to Ianto. “Which of you would that be?”_

_Ianto didn’t say anything. Gwen whimpered._

_“Make ‘im choose,” another of the soldiers said. “The freak, I mean.”_

_The Master looked at him. “That is genius!” he exclaimed. He ran to Jack and unshackled his right hand. Then he had the soldiers all stand behind Jack. Only Ianto and Gwen were in front of him, now. He put a gun to the back of Jack’s head as a soldier emptied another gun of all but one bullet._

_“One bullet, Freak. Choose which one goes, and which one gets my special attention for however long they can last, until we reach our next refueling stop.” He put the gun in Jack’s right hand, and placed his lips against Jack’s ear. “Choose, or neither will be shown any mercy.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Jack sobbed, aiming the gun and pulling the trigger._

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, part one of the flashback. I'll be adding trigger warnings, for part two. Bad things coming, though I've tried not to be any more explicit than necessary.


	52. Chapter 52

“Drakon, you need to wake up, now,” Bucky was shaking Ianto, trying to wrest him from the dream he was trapped in. “Please wake up!”

***

_Jack dropped the gun. Ianto met his eye and nodded his understanding, not looking at Gwen, who was now hanging from her manacles, a bullet hole in her forehead._

_“Ooh, he chose to spare his favorite,” the Master said, smiling nastily at Ianto. “Though I can’t think why. You are quite lovely, I must say.” He stroked a finger down Ianto’s cheek. “Tell me, who does he really love?”_

_Ianto stared straight ahead._

_The Master chuckled. He looked to the soldiers. “He’s shy.” He nodded for them to take Gwen’s body away. He wrapped an arm around Ianto’s shoulders, speaking conversationally. “You know, some of the crew like to have fun with the corpses. Cooper’s a bit bloody, but they’re not that picky. The other one, though. They’ll have so much more fun, with her.”_

_Ianto didn’t react, and the Master huffed. “I suppose you don’t think it matters, since they’re not here to consciously endure it.” He looked at the soldiers, who had come back in. “Enjoying the effects of your pills yet?”_

_They all laughed or nodded._

_He gave a signal and stepped back, and the three set upon Ianto, tearing his clothes off. When he was standing naked before them, the Master held up a hand, stopping them from proceeding._

_“Patience, lads. I never don’t give you your treats, now do I?”_

_The Master stepped up to Ianto, who was breathing hard but still staring straight ahead. “Think you can hide away, in some corner of your mind, while this is happening? Maybe you can. But I think you’re going to have other concerns, that may distract you. Like how long the lads will have at you, before the shock numbs you.”_

_He stepped close and pressed his lips against Ianto’s ear. “Tell me who he really loves, and maybe I’ll spare you.”_

_Ianto’s eyes darted to the Doctor, and away again, not wanting to inadvertently give the truest answer, which would likely enrage the Master and make him do something that would prevent the Doctor from fixing this. But what he missed were the Doctor’s tears of grief, knowing what the younger man was concealing, and what the cost would be._

_When Ianto didn’t answer, the Master continued, “I was trying to decide what should happen first. I was leaning towards letting them have you a few times before doing this, but then again, I want you to suffer,” he snarled, madness and fury reigniting in his eyes as he drew a knife from the nearest soldier’s belt, grabbed Ianto’s genitalia, and without hesitating, just hacked them off. The soldier behind Ianto held onto him as he struggled and screamed, his howls of pain sounding inhuman. _

***

Ianto jerked in Bucky’s arms and screamed, the same scream as his counterpart. It was heartrending.

Bucky held onto him, begging him to wake up and telling him he was all right, that it was just a dream.

***

_The Master used his sonic laser to cauterize the wound, then gave Ianto a shot of adrenaline, to rouse him from the faint he’d fallen into. As Ianto gasped back to consciousness, he bit off a scream, his breath heaving as he retched and tried to get his bearings. The Master went to sling an arm over Jack’s shoulder and gave another signal, and Ianto was lowered from the chain hanging from the ceiling so the three UNIT soldiers could use him as they wished, indulging the high the pills had elicited._

***

Gin was crying into Steve’s chest. He looked ashen. Clint couldn’t watch any more. He grasped Ianto’s hand and joined Bucky in trying to wake Ianto. Natasha stoically forced herself to keep watching. Bucky held Ianto and bore witness as the younger man whimpered in his arms, whispering a litany of comfort to him, hoping some part of him could hear.

It was a dream, so time passed strangely. But they could tell that time passed. A good deal of it, signified by how one rape bled into another, on a seemingly endless loop. 

***

_The soldiers had gotten very creative in how to be as brutal as possible. Blood and semen were everywhere, all four men a mess, but it was as though the soldiers had lost themselves to some wild, brutal, drug-fueled frenzy. A couple of hours had passed when the Master made them stop and had them hold Ianto up on his knees. Ianto was barely conscious, bleary with shock and trauma, so the Master gave him another shot of adrenaline._

_Ianto watched as the Master pulled something out of his pocket. He frowned, not understanding._

_It was a spoon._

_“Who does he really love?” the Master crooned, even as he gouged out Ianto’s eyes._

***

Ianto screamed again, and it was all Bucky could do, to hold him.

***

_The Master stepped back and signaled for the soldiers to continue their fun._

_He looked at Jack, who was weeping._

_“I’ve told you what I want to hear. Give the lads another hour or two, and I’ll grant him mercy, if you say it,” the Master sang cheerily. “His screams were quite lovely, but he’s lost his voice, now. Perhaps I should help him find it.”_

_With that, the Master stripped down and joined the soldiers, raping Ianto repeatedly before finally stepping away. Before he did, he whispered in Ianto’s ear, “Who does he really love?”_

_Four hours after the drugs were taken, their effects finally began to wear off and one by one, the soldiers collapsed from exhaustion. The Master dragged Ianto from where he lay twitching on the floor, and leaned him against Jack’s legs._

_“I’d estimate he has another couple of hours, before the shock finally kills him,” the Master said. “But I’ll end it now, if you tell your pet the truth,” the Master said. “And it had better be as I demanded, or I’ll find another set of soldiers and make the next few hours an agony that would make these last few look like a holiday.”_

_“Ianto,” Jack said, sniffing. “Ianto, can you hear me?”_

_“’ack,” Ianto whimpered weakly._

_“Ianto, you need to know,” Jack drew in a deep breath and glared at the Master. “You need to know that you mean nothing to me. Owen was right. You were only ever just a part-time shag. You’re just the teaboy. You’re_ nothing _. And after Lisa, how could you really think I could ever feel anything but contempt for you?”_

_He let out a sob as he felt Ianto’s shoulders shake with his tears. The first he had shed, in the entirety of the ordeal._

_In the end, it wasn’t the Master who broke Ianto._

_It was Jack._

_He looked at the Master, who signaled for him to keep going. “I don’t love you. I couldn’t. No one could.” He drew in a breath, and finished. “It’s Gwen that_ I _really love.”_

_The Master gave a slow clap and knelt down beside Ianto. “So tell me,” he said, his voice low, “Who does he really love?”_

_“Gwen,” Ianto whispered._

_“Excellent,” the Master grasped Ianto by the hair and drew him away from Jack. “I’m almost sorry I didn’t draw this out, a bit more,” he sighed. He looked at Jack, then in a swift move, he jabbed the point of his knife into Ianto’s jugular before leaning him back against Jack’s legs._

_“Say goodbye to your pet, Freak,” the Master said, heading for the door. “I’ll be back after I shower and change. Maybe have a bite to eat. Your friends will clean up this mess, I’m sure.”_

_Once he was gone, Jack looked down. “Ianto, I need you to listen to me.”_

_Ianto grasped the back of Jack’s ankle, the nearest thing to his hand. He knew he only had a few breaths left, and he didn’t want to hear Jack trying to placate him._

_Ianto drew one last, deep breath._

_“Jack.”_

_He went still, and Jack screamed._

***

Though the dream ended, they didn’t have time to feel relieved. 

“Drakon?” Bucky shook Ianto, who had gone unnaturally still.

Gin pushed Clint aside and checked Ianto’s pulse. She looked at Bucky. “Lay him down flat. Steve, call the medical floor and tell them to get a crash cart up here, immediately.”

“What’s happening?” Bucky asked as he watched Gin begin chest compressions.

“In the dream,” Gin said, pausing in her count and nodding for Natasha to breathe into Ianto’s mouth. “He died,” she gritted, starting the next round of compressions.

“But that’s just a myth!” Clint protested. “You can’t really die, if you die in a dream.”

“Yes, it’s a myth,” Gin stopped compressions and checked for a pulse as Natasha breathed again. “But Ianto’s a powerful empath who sometimes _relives_ his dreams.” She went back to compressions. When she stopped again, she finished her thought. “I told him this morning he was a panic attack away from a major cardiac event, because his heart was still so weak. And now, with the strain of reliving this,” she began compressions again.

By the time the medical team arrived, Ianto’s heart was beating again, though sluggishly. Steve and Bucky gently put Ianto in his bed and stripped him when Gin instructed them to do so. She arranged for oxygen to be brought up, as well as a heartrate monitor, an IV, and a whole list of other supplies and medications.

“Now,” she turned to the others. “He is showing signs of what I would normally call shock, if I hadn’t been told what psychic shock looks like. So who’s taking the first shift, stripping down and getting close to him?”

“What?” Bucky asked, blushing slightly.

Gin suppressed a smile. “The best way to stabilize him physically is to treat the psychic shock. And the best thing for that is skin-to-skin contact – warmth, comfort, and touch.”

Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “Maybe you should sit this one out, Buck.”

“I’m not leaving,” Bucky said.

“You don’t have to,” Natasha said, pulling off her t-shirt. “But we’ll take care of the cuddling, for now,” she grinned.

Steve, Clint, and Natasha stripped and climbed into the bed, surrounding Ianto.

Natasha shivered. “God, he’s so cold!”

“Can we turn him?” Steve asked.

Gin nodded. “That would probably be helpful,” she said.

As they settled, she and Bucky pulled the duvet over them. She then went into his closet, looking for more blankets.

Pepper had helped design the apartments, so they were a perfect balance of function and style. The master bedrooms were all fitted with walk-in closets. Unsurprisingly, Ianto’s was very neat and orderly. Gin quickly found the linen cupboard in the corner and was delighted to find a weighted blanket, along with another throw.

She folded the weighted blanket over and placed it mostly over Ianto, then Bucky helped her to place the large throw over them all. 

“Look at that,” she smiled, taking in the readings on the monitor. “It’s only been a few minutes, and his numbers are already more stable. Long way to go, but this is a good start.”

She told them to call out if they needed anything and then took Bucky by the hand and led him out of the room, shushing his protests. In Ianto’s kitchen, she made them tea, watching Bucky watch the bedroom door as it brewed. Once it was ready, they went to the living room and sat on one of the sofas. Bucky sipped the tea, feeling the warmth of it settle him, a bit. It was then that he realized he was shaking.

Gin smiled. “You’re looking a little shocky, yourself. If you and Ianto were in a better place, I’d have you in there with him, for the good of you both. But that would be wrong, right now. You two need to sort out your misunderstanding, first.”

“I wouldn’t take advantage of him, that way,” Bucky said, taking another sip of his tea. He scrubbed his hand over his face, which felt crusty from dried tears. “I really thought he was talking about me,” he muttered.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Gin asked. “Might make you feel better, give you some perspective.”

“In Wakanda, we spent a lot of time together,” Bucky said. “He was so ill, and so weak, and he wouldn’t tell me why, though he promised he would, in time. I wasn’t in much better shape, either. So we walked. And talked. We talked, _a lot_.” He smiled, remembering. “We just fit, you know? And it always worked out – when I needed to grieve, he was strong and held me steady. And I was able to do that for him, when he told me about things. I guess because he was so ill, he was more raw than he normally would be about those things, but it was a gift, you know? That I could do something for him…”

“It’s important to Ianto, to feel seen. And heard,” Gin said, her voice gentle. “What you did probably meant far more than you think.”

“You two dated, right?” Bucky’s attempt at nonchalance was terrible, but Gin didn’t have the heart to laugh. This was the first relationship Bucky had attempted in almost seven decades, and it was off to a bumpy start.

“Yes, but in retrospect it was more like we were just hanging out, as friends,” she said. Then she grinned and leaned forward. “Don’t worry, we never quite got around to having sex, so it’s not as weird or awkward as people might think.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. He was _so_ not used to the openness of the 21st century.

Gin chuckled. “I know this kind of discussion is probably jarring for you, but I wanted to set your mind at ease. We never sparked, is all. That’s what Ianto called it. He says that either two people spark, or they don’t.” 

“How long did you date?”

“Couple of months. I think he was waiting, to see if we’d spark. I’d never had that, so I wasn’t really expecting it. We were having a nice time, but it was no grand passion.”

“If you either spark or you don’t, what was he waiting for?”

Gin hesitated. “I’m not sure it’s my place to tell you this, but maybe it will help you understand. Ianto is what’s called demisexual.”

Bucky tried not to panic. He was still trying to catch up with the plethora of sexual terms and identities that had not been around (or not been labelled), when he was last in full command of his body and libido. Not that he was sorry for it, it was just concerning that he and Ianto might not be compatible.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself of that hour of pure bliss before he panicked and ruined it. Compatibility was certainly not the issue, here. 

“What does that mean?”

Gin admired Bucky’s (and Steve’s, for that matter) courage in facing this brave new world that was so different from the one they had been born into. She smiled gently. “It’s nothing bad. It just means that he’s not sexually attracted to someone, unless he feels an emotional connection with them.”

Bucky nodded. That made sense. Some people, and he could easily see Drakon being one of them, considered sex to be something sacred. It only made sense that it could not be casual, for those people. He knew the act itself was not to be confused with the attraction that would lead to it, but it all seemed to fit together, somehow. 

And Ianto had shared enough with him by now that he knew the younger man craved connection in all its forms, but would not likely invite a physical one without a depth of feeling that could justify what a physical connection would mean for someone as deeply empathic as him.

Gin could see that Bucky was with her, so far, so she continued. “He’s a little self-conscious about it, and he’s quick to say that he finds plenty of people attractive, but he doesn’t feel compelled to act upon it, if he doesn’t feel a connection, of some sort.”

“So he was taking the time to get to know you, and waiting for that connection to lead to the attraction.”

“And,” she sighed, “it never happened.”

“What did happen?”

“He invited me to an event here, where he introduced me to Steve.”

Bucky chuckled. “Sparks?”

“I finally knew what the fuss was about,” she laughed. “Steve and I tried to ignore it, but Ianto wasn’t having it.”

Bucky nodded. “He broke up with you because he knew you and Steve liked each other, didn’t he?”

“How’d you guess?” she deadpanned.

“Seems like what he’d do.”

She sat back with a wicked grin. “He’s a hella good kisser, though.”

At that, Bucky _blushed_ , and Gin wanted to just eat him up, it was so cute. She laughed, and he finally caught the humor of the moment and laughed quietly with her.

“He is,” Bucky smiled, but then it faded. “That’s where I screwed up.”

“How so?”

“It was _gorgeous_ ,” he said, his eyes wide, like he was still surprised. “ _He_ was gorgeous. And like you said. The boy can _kiss_. And it felt so good, I just wanted to hang onto that. I wanted more. But underneath it all, there was this twisted sort of fear that if I didn’t grab for everything I could, that it wouldn’t be real.”

Gin reached out and ran her hand down his flesh arm. “You were panicking.”

“I guess I was. And when he pumped the brakes, I panicked even more. Figured he knew…” he blew out a breath. “Some pretty terrible things happened to me, while Hydra had me.” At her nod, he continued. “My mind just went to these really dark places, asking how Ianto could want me, when he knew I was damaged goods.”

“Oh, Bucky,” Gin shook her head sadly. “I know you were freaking out, but tell me you know Ianto would never…”

“I know,” he said quickly. “And now, after that,” he gestured towards the bedroom, thinking about Ianto’s memories from the nightmare, “he’ll think that’s what _I_ think of _him_.” Bucky felt tears threaten, once more.

“I wish I could tell you you’re wrong, but his self-esteem can be vulnerable. He never spoke to me about his childhood, but…” she hesitated. “I’m afraid he might have been abused. It’s the only explanation as to why someone as capable as he is doubts himself, so much.”

Bucky held his tongue. He was beginning to realize just how much Ianto had trusted him, in sharing so much with him. He also began to understand the magnitude of his blunder. He knew his panic couldn’t be helped, but he also knew that he had to make things right with his drakon.

***


	53. Chapter 53

They had just finished their tea when there was a knock at the door. Before Gin could get to her feet, it opened, and Tony walked in, followed by Pepper and Thor.

“Friday said you had to call for a crash cart,” Tony said, frowning.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t keep them away any longer,” Pepper apologized.

“Ianto had a nightmare,” Gin said.

“It was a flashback,” Bucky clarified.

“And it triggered a cardiac arrest,” Gin finished.

“Oh, my God. Is he all right?” Pepper asked.

“Steve, Natasha, and Clint are with him, to help with the psychic shock. He’s stable now, but his heart stopped beating, for a few minutes.” Gin looked to the bedroom door. “Honestly, he’s in pretty bad shape.”

“But he’ll heal, right?” Tony asked, looking more than a little rattled.

“He should, but we have to keep him stable, and it’s going to be slow going. His healing factor is still suppressed.”

“What can we do?” Tony asked.

“You will listen to me this time, for a start,” Thor said, taking off his jacket. “He is not to be left alone, under any circumstances. That means someone needs to be in that bed with him, at all times.”

“Why?” Pepper asked.

“Because touch stabilizes him. It is not just a treatment for psychic shock; it is a source of renewal, for empaths. You have all seen this, and I have even heard some of you comment about it.”

“Renewal? How so?” Gin asked, interested. She really needed more information on empaths in general, and Ianto in particular, if she was to be fully prepared to help him, when he needed it.

“Because empathic ability is largely undiscerning, it picks up on _everything_ floating around. So powerful empaths must block as much of the information with which they are constantly bombarded as they can, in order to merely function. Despite its necessity, that is not a natural state, and most empaths feel a strange dynamic, feeling cut off from the world around them, even as they are overwhelmed by it.”

“That sounds very lonely,” Pepper said, looking sad.

“It is. That is why touch provides so much grounding and comfort,” Thor said. Then he looked at them, surprised. “Surely you have noticed how Handler leans into every touch, no matter how small. He craves it, but for some reason, is unable to ask for it.”

“What can you tell us about this flashback?” Tony asked, not sure how to process what Thor just told them. He wasn’t very tactile himself, except maybe with Pepper.

Bucky stood and grabbed their mugs from the coffee table. “I’m sorry, Gin… I can’t,” he said, his voice shaking almost as badly as his hands. He went into the kitchen and made as much noise as he could, washing up as Gin spoke quietly.

“There was an aborted timeline, where the British Prime Minister – remember Harold Saxon? – took over the world, because he was actually an evil alien. The members of Torchwood Three were part of the resistance. When they were captured, they were brought before Saxon, who had the leader of Torchwood imprisoned.”

“Jack Harkness?” Tony asked.

“Yes. Ianto…” she glanced towards the bedroom, distressed. “He killed two of his own teammates, to spare them.” She pointed at the picture displayed prominently on a bookshelf of Ianto with Toshiko Sato and Owen Harper. “Saxon somehow read his and the last team member’s minds. Found out Ianto loved Jack. Used it against him. Gave Jack a gun with one bullet and made him choose whom to spare.”

“Oh, don’t tell me,” Tony snarked. “Harkness killed that Cooper woman, so she wouldn’t be tortured, and Ianto got to stick around and…” he trailed off as Gin nodded. He swallowed. “And what?”

Gin shook her head, unable to say. She closed her eyes against the memory.

“What happened to him?” Thor asked gently. “It will help us to know, so we don’t trigger him, unintentionally.”

Gin told them, her voice faltering as she described each atrocity. She was sobbing against Pepper’s shoulder by the time she described the ransom Jack had to pay, to secure Ianto’s release from his torment. The cruel script provided to Jack by the Master, who by then had plumbed the depths of Ianto’s insecurities.

“Jesus, no wonder the kid’s abandonment issues have abandonment issues,” Tony said, running a hand through his hair.

Thor looked grim. “Those things did not happen to this version of him, but now that he has remembered them, _experienced_ them through this flashback, I fear he will have to recover in much the same way he would, had these things occurred in this timeline.” He paced for a few moments. “He needs a healer. Someone to help him, the way he helps others.”

“Does anyone know how to reach his teacher?” Gin asked. “Perhaps she can heal him.”

“Jack will know how to reach her,” Pepper said, pulling out her cell phone and wiping away her tears.

“Uh, Pepper? Why do you have Captain Fantastic in your contact list?”

“It’s not Jack, it’s the Torchwood Hub,” she said, which was actually even stranger.

It was five in the morning in Cardiff, and apparently Jack was out chasing Weevils. But luckily, Martha Jones was on overnight duty in the Hub, and when Pepper explained, she knew just whom to call, for help. She said to give her time to make a call, and she’d get back to them.

Thor headed to the bedroom and took Natasha and Clint’s place, arguing that more contact was better, right now. He seemed particularly rattled, and when the couple were dressed and back in the living room, Pepper explained.

“Just before Friday told us Gin had ordered a crash cart, we were having a drink, and suddenly, all of the leaves fell from Ianto’s tree. Then it…” she sniffed. “It sort of just curled in on itself, before it disappeared, altogether. Thor seemed to have _felt_ it wither. It was…” She swiped at her tears, again. “It was unnerving to watch, but Thor seemed really shaken.”

“He wanted to call down here, but we all argued that if there was anything wrong, Friday would have alerted us,” Tony added.

“And then she did,” Pepper said. “But she also said there were too many people down here, and advised us to stay away, until it made sense for us to come down.”

“Thor was asking for an update every ninety seconds,” Tony said, trying to sound flippant, but he was as shaken as everyone else.

Bucky returned to the living room and sat down heavily. “What now?”

“Thor’s right,” Gin said. “We need to stay close. One heart attack could easily become a series of cardiac events right now, and I don’t think he can survive that.”

“Why is his healing factor so messed up?” Bucky asked. Then he rolled his eyes, when they all looked away. “Oh, come on. Isn’t it time to drop this? _This_ , right here, is doing me more damage, right now. Not knowing is…” he sniffed, and Natasha sat beside him, wrapping an arm around him.

The silence was broken when Friday announced, “Sir, there are three people in the lobby, asking for Agent Jones.”

“Who?”

“Jack Harkness, John Hart, and Martha Jones.”

“What?” Tony asked. “How?”

“Send them up,” Pepper said.

A few minutes later, the three entered the apartment. Jack looked around, looking sad. He quickly explained about Hart’s vortex manipulator.

“How is he?” Martha asked.

“Stable,” Gin said.

“Can we see him?”

Gin led them into the bedroom. Steve wrapped a towel around his waist and stood from the bed, allowing Martha to sit beside Ianto and scan him. Then Hart, who quickly read Ianto. Jack did, as well, letting out a sob before leaving the room.

“He’s a mess,” Hart muttered, looking genuinely concerned when they were gathered back in the living room.

“He remembered all of it, didn’t he?” Jack asked.

Without giving details, Gin described what Ianto had projected.

Martha looked sad. “He’s stable, but his heart has taken a lot of damage. Did something happen, before this?”

“Had to have,” Hart said. “Lots of psychic damage, but some of it was healing, like it was a few weeks old. Did the Time Lord attack him psychically, in the other timeline?”

Jack nodded. “It’s how he knew what buttons to push, how to hurt Ianto, the most.” He straightened up. “There’s no way to reach the Ancient One, right now. Martha, give me your phone.”

She dialed the number before handing the phone over to Jack. He listened for a moment, until clearly he reached a voicemail box. “Doctor, it’s Jack. I know you’ve heard Martha’s message, by now. Now I’m telling you. You need to come help us.” He gave the date, time, and coordinates. “This is about Ianto Jones. You remember Ianto, right? Well, he’s remembered the Year, and if you don’t get your arse here, right now, I’ll never forgive you. And believe me, you don’t want me holding a grudge against you, for the rest of _my_ life.” He hung up and tossed the phone back to Martha.

Martha stared at Jack, wide-eyed. “Jack.”

“I mean it,” Jack said. “Martha, the Master never broke Ianto. Not until about ninety seconds before he died. And even then, he didn’t give up the one thing that would have ended all our chances.” He swiped at the tears that were forming. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, but they were interrupted by a grinding, wheezing noise as the TARDIS materialized in the corner of the living room. A young-looking man in a tweed coat and a bowtie bounded out.

“Jack! Martha!” he was like an oversized puppy. He reached out and embraced Martha, but he stilled when he released her and turned to Jack. “I’m here to help,” he said, his voice calm and placating. 

Martha quickly introduced the Doctor to everyone.

“What’s happened?” he asked. “How has he remembered the Year? Time reset when you destroyed the paradox machine. No one who was not on the _Valiant_ at the time should remember anything.”

Jack quickly relayed what Torchwood One had done, to enhance Ianto’s psychic abilities. “It seems like every time he experiences a trauma, his abilities deepen.”

“What’s in the box?” Tony asked, staring at the TARDIS and poking it with a finger. “And someone should probably tell him about the Mind Stone.”

Thor walked in from the bedroom, wearing a towel around his waist. “Doctor. It is good to see you, again.”

“Thor!” the Doctor smiled, greeting an old friend. “Where are your clothes?”

“We’re taking care of Handler,” Thor answered. “Psychic shock.”

“Ah.” The Doctor looked around the room. “What is this, about the Mind Stone?”

“During the Battle of New York, Loki stabbed Ianto with a scepter that had the Mind Stone affixed to it,” Thor answered. “Ianto touched the stone, and became imprinted by it.”

“Of _course_!” the Doctor smacked his forehead. “Stupid, stupid Doctor. How many Ianto Joneses can there be?” He sighed, then closed his eyes. “Ianto Jones, imprinted with the energies of the Mind Stone. Changed the course of history by using those energies for healing and protection, rather than world domination.”

“Doctor, remember the date,” Jack warned.

“Yes, yes, no spoilers.” The Doctor waved him off, deep in thought. “Well. That explains some of what the Master said, that day, when he finally managed to read our Mr. Jones. Tell me what has happened, to precipitate this.”

“We’re not sure,” Gin said, “though it could be related to his weakened state.” She glanced at Bucky, who stood.

“Look, I’m not leaving. You just need to tell them what happened, and trust that I’m a big boy and can handle it.”

Steve came out, wearing his t-shirt and jeans. He clapped Thor on the shoulder, and the Asgardian headed back to the bedroom. Martha and Hart leaned over the sofa they were sitting on, to watch him go.

“At this point, not telling him is causing more stress,” Gin said to Steve.

“You’re right. It’s time.” Steve sighed, then gestured for everyone to take a seat. “A few weeks ago, we found out that Hydra had embedded a trigger in Bucky’s mind. Ten words that, when spoken in sequence, would allow the speaker to subvert Bucky’s will and make him the Soldier, again. Ianto found where in Bucky’s mind the words were buried, and he went in and… dug them out.”

The Doctor blinked. “But that would mean…” He stood and walked over to Bucky, and knelt in front of him. “May I see, please?”

At Bucky’s nod, the Doctor placed his hand along the side of Bucky’s head and closed his eyes. Bucky watched, frowning. It didn’t hurt, it just felt like a soft breeze. But it was a damned strange place for a soft breeze to be blowing.

The Doctor opened his eyes and stood. “Well,” he said, giving a sniff and blinking several times.

“Well?” Jack asked.

“It’s beautiful,” the Doctor said, his voice low and reverent. “Your Ianto is a very talented healer. He intuitively did something that should not have even been possible.”

“He’s not my Ianto, Doctor,” Jack said, feeling more than one person in the room bristle and needing to clarify. “He left Torchwood two years ago. He’s with SHIELD, now. Though I believe he’s seconded from SHIELD, technically. He’s the Avengers’ handler.”

“Ah. Well, that would explain New York,” the Doctor said, looking out of the window. Then he turned back to Jack, frowning. “But he was fairly well entrenched in Torchwood. Why did he leave?”

Jack stared at his toes.

“Well, if it’s not relevant,” for once the Doctor actually picked up on a social cue.

“But it might be,” Natasha spoke up.

“How so?” the Doctor asked.

“Ianto left Torchwood because Jack was sleeping with Gwen Cooper, even though he’d promised to be monogamous, with Ianto.”

“Jack,” the Doctor tried to school his tone. He was somewhat less than successful. “Wait. Gwen Cooper?” His eyes flashed. “Yes, I would say that is _very_ relevant.” He shook his head. “But not yet. Now, based on what I’ve seen with Sergeant Barnes, there were two healings. Both massive. The first was well over a year ago and… well, you seem to have someone else’s touch telepathy, in there.”

“Yeah, it’s Ianto’s, but it only works, with him.”

“Both ways, though, right?”

Bucky nodded. So did the Doctor.

“The second healing was more subtle, but far more extensive.”

“How could that be?” Bucky asked, surprised.

“Because you’ve almost completely healed. And that is _not_ down to your healing factor, Sergeant.” The Doctor pulled the coffee table over so he could sit, facing Bucky. “Am I right in surmising that, because you were healing, and grieving, they did not explain to you how Ianto heals people?”

At Bucky’s nod, Steve interjected, “The Ancient One told us to wait. That if we told Bucky right away, it might be a way for him to avoid some of the things he needed to face.”

The Doctor nodded. “She was correct. But he has done the work she knew he needed to do. It’s fine to tell him now, though it will not be easy for him, to hear.” He reached out and awkwardly patted Bucky’s knee, and Bucky was struck that there was someone who was even worse at this, than him.

Steve cleared his throat. “Buck. When Ianto heals people, he doesn’t just heal the damage. He…” he glanced at Natasha, who nodded. “He takes part of their pain, as well. Makes it his own, and processes it for the person he’s healing.”

Bucky sucked in a breath. “That’s why I feel as good as I do, isn’t it?”

Steve nodded.

“And it cost him, to heal me. I know that much. That’s why he was tired, and weak. He and Shuri kept saying it was just fatigue, and I _knew_ it was more than that, but he said he’d tell me later. But you keep talking about his heart being weak, and...” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “This is my fault, isn’t it?”

“No. Absolutely not,” Steve said, his voice its most authoritative, and Bucky instinctively sat up straighter, looking at Steve. “Bucky, this was Ianto’s choice. He knew the risks he was facing, going into that healing, even if the rest of us didn’t. He…” he looked at the others. “He reached out to Matt the day before, to make sure his affairs were in order. He told Matt he didn’t know how bad it would be, but that he had accepted the possibility that it might kill him.”

The Doctor watched as Bucky blanched. The others either cursed or exclaimed or – in the case of Clint – kicked the steel-reinforced front door.

“I told you he was weird that night,” he gritted at Natasha, hopping on one foot and holding the one he had just injured.

“What happened?” Bucky rasped.

“The nosebleeds and migraines are down to a blood pressure thing, when he heals people,” Steve began. “That almost always happens. And that’s how it started, during the healing. His blood pressure started rising, right away, but it spiked after he removed the third word. After the fourth, the nosebleed started, but not a bad one. We could tell the headache had started after the fifth word, and after the sixth, the nosebleed got bad. Shuri called it a posterior…”

“Posterior nosebleed?” Gin offered, frowning.

Steve nodded, taking a breath. “You know that little noise he makes, when he has a migraine and thinks no one is around to hear?”

Almost everyone in the room nodded.

“That came after the seventh word. Cardiac arrhythmia, after the eighth.” Steve sent Bucky a guilty look. “I’m sorry, Buck, but that’s when I tried to get him to stop. But he,” he chuckled. “He fucking sprouted dragon wings, and we couldn’t get near him.”

“Really,” the Doctor looked intrigued.

“The Ancient One said his protective avatar can either be separate from him, or he can manifest aspects of it, himself. It was a new expansion of his abilities, that day.” The Doctor nodded for him to continue, and he went on to describe the vomiting of blood, the seizures, the aneurysm, which then ruptured, the hemorrhagic stroke, and the cardiac arrest. He finished by explaining how the Ancient One had shown up and helped with some of Ianto’s physical healing.

Bucky was leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, weeping. “Why?” he asked, his voice broken. “Why would he do that?”

“Buck,” Steve knelt beside his friend. “There was never a question. I think he knew he was going to heal you, as soon as he realized those words were there. He knew he could help, and so he did.” He reached out and squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “To him, it was an acceptable risk. And he never had a second of doubt or regret, not even when he woke up, so weak and sick.”

Bucky looked at the Doctor. “He took more than normal though, didn’t he?”

The Doctor nodded. “I believe he did. You’re too clear, considering it’s only been a matter of weeks.” He hesitated, then added. “I’d say he took on about eighty percent of the damage, himself.”

“Shit,” Steve muttered. “He told me a while back that he usually tries not to take more than half.”

“So this time, he took too much upon himself,” the Doctor mused. “I would argue that it was unconsciously done – he simply got carried away. But it swamped him, and overwhelmed his healing factor. So he was healing more quickly than most humans, but not as quickly as _he_ normally would.”

“And then there was the battle,” Natasha said.

“What battle?” the Doctor turned to her, surprised.

She explained about the battle in Wakanda, and how Ianto sent the avatar that was supposed to protect him out to fight, and so he sustained a lot of the damage absorbed by the avatar that he sent out to protect others.

The Doctor ran a hand down his face. “So he healed a bit, then took a beating. Anything else?”

“The nightmares started, after he healed me,” Bucky said quietly. “I think he only remembered fragments, until tonight.”

“And tonight the whole thing played out, start to finish,” Steve said.

“Has anyone examined him?”

“Gin stabilized him,” Martha answered. “I’ve scanned him, and his heart is very weak, but he’s stable, for now.”

“His mind’s a mess,” Hart piped up. “It’s like this Saxon bastard actually came in here tonight, and assaulted him.

“He actually re-experienced the event?” the Doctor looked startled.

“At the very least, on the psychic level,” Jack replied.

The Doctor whirled around. “You stay away from him, Jack. I’m sorry, but you’ll do more harm than good, right now. What finally broke him was what you said. And then you acted it out, in this timeline. God knows how it will hit him, when he makes that connection.”

Jack’s eyes grew wide. “He’ll take it as confirmation,” he said, dismayed.

The Doctor nodded. “The whole time those UNIT soldiers were attacking him, the Master was destroying his psychic defenses, and anything else he could find. Ianto began just handing him certain things, to make him think he was breaking down barriers.”

“What?”

“He was more skillful than the Master gave him credit for. And I imagine it helped, for him not to think what was happening to his body.” He sighed. “But what he handed the Master was old, ugly stuff, not realizing it would matter.” The Doctor shrugged. “He knew he was going to die. No way could he have ever survived those injuries.”

“What kind of stuff?” Martha asked, and Jack shook his head at her not to, but the Doctor answered, anyway.

“Old abuse. That he is nothing. Unloved and unlovable. I imagine part of him always believed that to be true, given how young he was, when he first started hearing it. Certain people gave him hope that perhaps it wasn’t, but as of that night, almost all of them had crushed that hope.” He looked at Jack, who was fighting his own memories.

“And then so did I,” Jack said, his voice rough.

“No, Jack,” the Doctor said gently. “The Master did that. He would have followed through on his promise to hurt Ianto more, if you hadn’t. But the problem that now arises is that Ianto remembers it.”

“And because I told him I loved Gwen more, and then in this timeline sort of proved it…”

“That validates all of the other garbage,” Tony finished.

The Doctor stood. “I should go see, for myself,” he headed for the bedroom.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Torchwood is only on scene to introduce the Doctor, so don't get too excited. Next up is the Doctor explaining some things, and then Bucky starting to make things right.
> 
> Hope you enjoy - thanks for reading! :)


	54. Chapter 54

The Doctor gently read Ianto, taking his time, to be sure he understood what he was seeing. He did what he could to ease some of the inflammation, and Ianto seemed to settle into his sleep, a bit more comfortably. When the Doctor re-entered the living room, the others looked at him hopefully. He looked a bit like a newborn giraffe, all uncertain knees and elbows as he stood awkwardly before them.

“Well?” Jack asked.

“He needs to rest, but once some of the swelling has gone down, I might be able to help him,” the Doctor said. He held up a hand as everyone made sounds of relief or gratitude. “I cannot heal all of the damage, though.”

“Can you help him or not, Doc?” Jack asked wearily.

“I can,” the Doctor replied, then hesitated. “Somewhat.”

“Somewhat maybe sort of, but not really?” Jack spat. “You _owe_ him!” he roared.

“All right, Jack. Calm down, mate,” Hart put a hand on Jack’s arm, but he snatched it away and turned his back on the Doctor.

“He’s right,” the Doctor placated. “And not just me. The world owes Ianto a debt that can never be acknowledged, much less repaid.”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked.

“You witnessed the brutality of the mutilations and the physical rapes. But what you did not see was how much more vicious the Master was, in violating and destroying Ianto’s mind. Nor could you possibly fathom how hard Ianto fought, keeping his mind closed to the Master, as long as he could. You see, there was one piece of information that he had, and had he shared it, we would not have been able to defeat the Master.”

“What was it?” Clint asked.

“The question the Master kept asking. ‘Who did Jack _really_ love?’ The only answer that mattered to Ianto was that it wasn’t him. But he knew that if he gave the true answer,” the Doctor shrugged. 

“It was never Cooper,” Natasha said, looking at Jack, who was looking out of the window, every line of his posture showing his regret. “It was you.”

“No accounting for taste,” Jack muttered.

“Jack,” Martha chided.

“No, I deserve that,” the Doctor replied. He looked around the room. “Jack traveled with me, and I abandoned him, without explaining his immortality to him. It was cruel. Crueler still, when he finally found me, I called him ‘wrong’.” He grimaced as Jack flinched. “I can never apologize enough for that. It’s not Jack who was wrong, it was me.”

“You called Jack wrong?” Martha asked, looking stricken.

“While we were helping Yana,” the Doctor replied. “I wasted no time, but then again, that version of me had always been a bit of a prat.”

“Time Lords don’t like fixed points,” Jack said morosely. “I won’t stay dead. Big ol’ fixed point, giving him the creeps. It’s also why the Master called me freak.”

“I have apologized to Jack,” the Doctor smiled sadly at Martha. “And I will continue to do so, until he accepts one of my apologies. In the meantime, his guilt over what the Master forced him to do keeps him resenting me.”

“C’mon, Martha,” Jack said. “You know the drill. Any of us would do _anything_ for the Doctor, including taking all of his crap.”

“Not my Mickey,” she grinned at the Doctor, who smiled grudgingly.

“And not Donna, certainly,” the Doctor chuckled. “Nor the Centurion.”

Jack gave Martha a sad smile. “Then I guess we’re the only saps, here.”

“Ianto didn’t know how unworthy I was of Jack’s love and loyalty,” the Doctor cut off the tangent, looking incredibly sad. “All he knew was that Jack had left – abandoned him, after outing their relationship to the Torchwood team – and all for me.”

“And he wasn’t wrong,” Jack admitted grudgingly. “As much as the Doctor couldn’t stand the sight of me, I’d loved him for almost a century and a half.” He sighed. “Knowing that would’ve sent the madman even further over the edge.”

“What would he have done?” Tony asked.

“The Master would have destroyed me,” the Doctor replied. “And with me would have died the means of reversing the Year.”

“But why?” Clint frowned.

“Isn’t it enough that he was mad as a box of hair?” Martha asked.

The Doctor chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “The Master’s madness was almost as old as our rivalry, from our school days. He was a strange blend of irrational contempt and possessive jealousy. If Ianto had told him that Jack loved me, he would have flown into a jealous rage, not even caring if Jack’s regard was reciprocated.”

“You say in the end, the Master broke Ianto,” Tony said. “How do you know that, if he didn’t give up your secret?”

Jack hung his head. “Because he wouldn’t let me take back the things the Master made me say. He didn’t have it in him to let himself die with a comforting lie. So he died on his own terms, loving me, even though he was convinced that he was nothing, to me.”

“Jack, you can’t blame yourself. In hiding his secret, he had allowed all of his own worst memories, fears, and insecurities to come to the surface, albeit with enough resistance to convince the Master that he had wrested them from him. He offered them up to the Master, knowing full well they would be used against him.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Jack retorted.

“Of course not. But it was a bit of a game. By the time the Master dug up the worst of it, he thought he’d found everything there was to find. He left the last tidbit behind, in his excitement of having a new way to torment you both. But in the end, Ianto won.”

“Still not a comfort.”

“No, I suppose not. But it’s all we have.”

“So you say you can help,” Natasha said, reminding the hyperactive alien that he hadn’t really answered their question. She still had her arm around Bucky, who was hanging on every word, even as he struggled not to come apart.

“Yes,” the Doctor nodded, realizing he had to give them a concrete answer. “I cannot completely heal him. There is too much damage. But I can heal the damage that the Master’s abuse caused. And I can soften the memories of that night, mute them.”

“Mute them?” Gin asked.

The Doctor nodded. “He will still remember. But it will be in its proper context. It happened, but it really didn’t. It will allow him to remember what happened in the other timeline, without having to re-experience it, in the remembering. Because it didn’t really happen, in this, _his_ timeline.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’,” Clint said.

“The psychic shock has already happened. I cannot undo that, nor can I do anything about the physical damage. He’ll have to take the time to heal from the heart attack, and the rest.”

“And?” Natasha asked.

“He was already hurting,” the Doctor said. “The timing of this was horrible, really. He healed Sergeant Barnes, taking on a significant portion of the pain of those experiences, which is probably what caused this remembering. There are similarities that will likely keep the pain fresh for longer than normal. It will take him longer to process and offload those things, because they resonate so closely with these newly recovered memories.”

Everyone was careful to not look at Bucky as the implication of these words became apparent. 

“And the remembering, even if I can soften it, will only serve to reinforce old insecurities. I can see where he has worked very hard on these issues, but remembering how Jack repeatedly favored Gwen Cooper in both this and the other timeline, combined with how the relationship ended in this one,” he trailed off with a sigh.

He glanced at Bucky. “And current misunderstandings have eroded hope, as well. As I said, he was already hurting. The old script of ‘unloved and unlovable’ will prevail, until it can be rewritten.”

Bucky was looking at him, raw hope in his eyes. The Doctor was saying that the old script _could be_ rewritten. Bucky just had to figure out how. And an idea was forming.

***

When the Doctor asked how Jack, Martha, and John had arrived so quickly, Jack told him that they had been at a UNIT conference in New York when Pepper reached out to Martha. Everyone was too tired and worried and heartsick at the events of the evening to expose the blatant lie, though more than one person had noticed that when the TARDIS arrived, John Hart had taken off his vortex manipulator and hidden it in one of his coat pockets.

They all sat and talked for a while, but everyone was subdued. Not even a brief tour of the TARDIS could distract them from their worry, though Tony called Bruce to come take a look, and they may have geeked out, just a bit. Steve returned to the bedroom, where he and Thor remained with Ianto for the rest of the night. Gin checked in on them regularly. 

It was well past two when everyone decided to get some rest. The Doctor went to watch over Ianto for a while, to see how his mind was coping. Pepper, Tony, and Bruce bid them goodnight. Natasha and Clint retired to their apartment next door, and Bucky offered his apartment to Jack, John, and Martha, but they politely refused, saying they needed to get back to ‘the UNIT conference’.

Bucky refused to leave Ianto’s apartment, so he and Gin crashed on the sofas in the living room. He didn’t sleep much, nor did he sleep well, despite being surrounded by Ianto’s scent, and Ianto’s things. He wandered around the living room, taking in the details of the drakon’s space and feeling a little creepy about doing so without Ianto’s invitation to be there. 

Sometime around dawn, he made his way to the bedroom, where the Doctor had nodded off in a chair beside the bed. Steve and Thor were both sleeping soundly, with Ianto cocooned between them, a frown marring his brow. Bucky felt the Doctor rise and stand beside him as he watched the sleeping men, though he only took in the drakon. 

“Is he in pain?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” the Doctor answered, not meaning to be blunt but wanting to be honest. “Last night, he experienced the psychic attacks that the Master carried out, in the other timeline. His mind is fragmented, as though the assaults actually happened, here.”

Bucky nodded. He bit his lip, holding back.

“Ask your question,” the Doctor said, watching Bucky closely.

“Would he be this bad off, if he hadn’t helped me?”

The Doctor sighed. “The chain of events that has brought us here is clear, and if you want to spend your time and energy trying to blame yourself, that’s your decision. But what you need to remember is that it was Ianto’s decision, to help you.”

“I just don’t understand why,” Bucky muttered. “He healed me, and I ran. And while I was running, he cleared my name. And then he healed me again. And I feel so close to normal that it’s terrifying, because I’m beginning to realize that it was at his own expense.”

“Again, his choice,” the Doctor said. “And he knew he would heal from it more quickly than you. What he didn’t realize was that processing your traumas would trigger his own. No one could have predicted that the imprint of the Mind Stone would allow him to remember that timeline.”

“Will he remember others?” Bucky didn’t want to imagine.

The Doctor considered the question. “Timelines are tricky things, but I believe it would normally be impossible to see another. Think of two train tracks, always parallel, always equidistant from one another. You wouldn’t be able to look down your own track and see a pebble on the other, because your vision is restricted to the track you’re on. The only reason he remembers this one is because that timeline reversed, and this one ran forward on it, once it reset.”

“So the pebble’s on this track, for him to see.”

“Precisely,” the Doctor said with a small smile.

Bucky had the distinct impression that the Doctor’s subdued demeanor was out of character.

“You feel guilty,” the Doctor said.

“So do you,” Bucky replied.

“What makes you say that?”

Bucky shrugged. “You could have stopped it.”

“Yes, but to win that battle, we would have lost the entire war.”

“Guilt doesn’t care how good the reason, though, does it?”

The Doctor looked at Bucky. “No, it doesn’t.”

“He knew you could help, but no matter how bad it got, he didn’t ask you to.”

“He knew the stakes.”

“And he didn’t think he was worth saving.”

“Sadly, I think you’re right. If it’s any consolation, he has worked through a lot of that. He’s not the same young man who died on the _Valiant_.”

“Except for how this might have brought all that back,” Bucky frowned.

“Yes, but setbacks are a part of any recovery,” the Doctor said. “You learn from them and come away, stronger.” He looked at Bucky again. “Your guilt, for example. It’s habitual.”

“What?” Bucky looked at him, surprised.

The Doctor nodded. “He has healed you, and you have gained a lot of clarity around what you were responsible for, as the Soldier, versus what you had no control over. In a very real sense, it’s absolution. But you still remember doing those things. So now, instead of feeling guilty for doing those things, you feel guilty for _not_ feeling guilty, anymore. But that’s not always enough. So when the opportunity comes along to blame yourself for something more substantial, well. The first instinct is to grab onto it.”

“Hmmm,” Bucky said noncommittally.

“I would suggest that you knock it off,” the Doctor said with a small smile, and Bucky snorted quietly. “It’s not going to help Ianto. Perhaps you should find a way to channel that impulse into helping him, rather than harming yourself.”

Bucky looked thoughtful. 

As they watched, Ianto stirred. He frowned, then let out a distressed sound before somehow pushing both Thor and Steve away from him. In the next moment, he had curled tightly in on himself as dragon wings wrapped around him. The shape in the middle of the bed looked almost like a flower. Ianto had gone fetal, making himself impossibly small, with his wings wrapped around him in an almost artistic spiral that completely covered him.

Bucky would have thought it was beautiful, if it wasn’t so heartbreaking. 

Steve and Thor had wakened quickly, and were sitting on either side of the bed, staring.

“Seems he has recovered his ability to manifest aspects of his protective avatar,” the Doctor commented, looking fascinated.

“What was your first clue?” Steve snarked, but it was more out of concern for his friend than unfriendliness towards the Doctor. 

The Doctor gestured for Steve and Thor to leave the bed. Both men did, and began to dress.

Ianto was completely concealed by his wings. Only the oxygen tube, IV line, and wires from the monitoring leads escaped their protective embrace. Bucky could detect Ianto’s trembling, and he looked at the Doctor, uncertain. The Doctor nodded, encouraging him to speak. “You need to say what he needs to hear, Sergeant.”

Gin entered the room and stared for a beat before deciding to leave Ianto to himself, for a moment. She scanned the monitor before injecting a painkiller and a mild sedative into the IV line. The Doctor told Thor and Steve that they could go get some breakfast, and they left the room. Bucky sat on the side of the bed. “Drakon, can you hear me?”

The wings twitched slightly before drawing more tightly around Ianto. Bucky took this as an affirmative answer. He slid down, leaning on an elbow so he could speak in a low voice to the quaking form of his drakon. 

“Can I touch you, please?”

The wings flinched, and Bucky thought he heard a soft whimper. He thought Ianto would refuse, or just not answer, but then there was another, very tiny twitch, this one more uncertain than the last. Bucky reached out and gently lay his hand on the portion of the wing that he could tell was covering Ianto’s head. There was a startled flinch, but then it settled. 

Bucky was surprised to realize he was touching Ianto with his metal hand. The wing felt warm and smooth, like the softest, most buttery leather. The sensors in Bucky’s arm provided the neural feedback perfectly. Bucky wanted to stroke the wing, to somehow try to soothe Ianto, but he didn’t dare. He could tell the younger man was barely tolerating his touch.

“What is it, Drakon?” he asked.

 _You must hate me, now._ The tone of Ianto’s voice in Bucky’s head was heartbreaking.

“Never could,” Bucky said, his own voice breaking. Then he drew in a deep breath. _Will you allow me to apologize for what happened in Wakanda? I panicked, and my darkest fears surfaced. But I know you could never judge me, in that way, Drakon._

 _But if you judge yourself that way, then you must…_ Ianto sobbed beneath the wings. _Oh gods, what must you think of me?_ The wing-wrapped form shook with Ianto’s silent weeping.

“I think the nature of the abuse – and the intention of our abusers – was to make us feel shame, whether we deserve to, or not. For a moment, I forgot that I don’t deserve the shame that I sometimes feel. I know you feel that shame as well, or you wouldn’t be hiding, right now. But that doesn’t mean that you deserve it, either. Neither of us do.”

The wings sort of rippled, before settling again. Bucky waited a long minute as Ianto processed his words. _So… you don’t think less of me?_ The hope in Ianto’s question was wrenching.

“No more than you think less of me, for what I know you know,” came Bucky’s soft reply. “And I’ll tell you something else,” he continued, taking a chance and stroking Ianto’s head through the beautiful, soft wing. He felt Ianto shudder again, but this time he was certain it wasn’t fear. “Because of you, Drakon, I don’t think less of myself, either.”

He heard a soft sob escape the soft pile of hurting drakon, and Bucky felt tears burning his eyes.

_You… promise? Y-you don’t think less of me?_

Bucky remembered what the Doctor had said, about Ianto’s mind being fragmented, right now. He would probably need to hear this several times, before it landed. Bucky continued to stroke Ianto’s head.

“Aw, angel. That’s the wrong question,” Bucky forced the tears out of his voice and tried for a chiding tone. “The question should be, how is it possible that I think _more_ of you now, than ever before?” He felt Ianto go very, very still. He hoped he was on the right track and continued, “You are _so strong_ , Drakon. You had a secret that could have ended the world, for good. And yet you held onto it, no matter what that monster did to you. You fought him, and in the end, you beat him.”

The wings went from dead still to a violent flutter so fast, Bucky couldn’t react. The next thing he knew, his hand was on Ianto’s head, trapped beneath the wings as they settled back around Ianto. He also saw Ianto’s right hand hesitantly reaching out from beneath the wings.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... a bit more insight into the Year, and the beginnings of some comfort from Bucky. More of that in the next chapter, as well.
> 
> Hope you enjoy - thanks for reading!


	55. Chapter 55

Bucky was reminded of the Doctor’s presence when he heard the Time Lord’s hum of approval as he took Ianto’s hand and pulled it closer so he could hold it against his face. He closed his eyes, taking as much comfort as he gave. He felt a bit selfish, but he hadn’t been this worried about someone since pneumonia almost claimed Steve, the winter that they were twelve.

 _Moy milyy drakon. Ya sozhaleyu._[1] Without thought, he turned his head slightly so he could kiss Ianto’s hand.

Ianto sobbed again. _Winter, I can’t… I can’t… How do I live with this? How… It happened, but it didn’t. I know it didn’t, and yet I remember. And it hurt, so much… Still hurts…_

“I know,” Bucky soothed, stroking Ianto’s hair. 

He silently thanked Shuri for her brilliant design as the prosthetic allowed him to run his fingers through Ianto’s hair without the joints snagging on it and pulling it, painfully. Bucky had lost track of how much of his own hair he had yanked out that way, along with all the times he’d drawn blood, pinching himself as the joints of the old prosthetic closed painfully. 

Somehow, this new arm didn’t do that – the joints were able to close without pinching or grabbing whatever might be nearby to be caught in them. It was beautifully designed, and he had acclimated to it within a day or two, with none of the pain and yet more responsiveness, balance, and even beauty, than before. 

And the refinements she had made to the neural relays meant that he had actual _sensation_ , now. He could feel each hair as it slid across his fingers, Ianto’s soft locks and smooth skin almost too sweet to bear. Yes, he was grateful. But right now mostly because he was able to comfort his drakon, without hurting him.

Bucky wondered how his heart could soar at the realization that Ianto called him ‘Winter’, even as it broke at his drakon’s pain. He blinked, suddenly realizing he needed to heed the instinct he had been fighting since the previous night.

“C’mere,” he growled, pulling his hand away from Ianto’s head and hearing a small whimper. He kept hold of Ianto’s other hand as much as he could as he pulled off his shirt and climbed up onto the bed, glad he had not put his shoes back on when he woke. He was now only wearing sweatpants, and was glad he was comfortable, because he had the feeling he was about to settle in for a while.

He sat with his back to the headboard, then reached down and gathered the bewinged lump of sobbing Welshman into his arms and hauled him up. Ianto’s wings unfurled slightly as Bucky arranged him, placing Ianto between his legs so he was leaning with his right side pressed against Bucky’s chest and his legs were draped comfortably over Bucky’s right leg. Ianto’s arms snaked around Bucky’s midriff and he leaned against Bucky’s chest and wept. 

The wings folded around them once more, covering most of their upper bodies. Ianto was completely hidden, except for his lower legs, from his knees to his feet. The Doctor grabbed the duvet and covered both of them, tucking it well behind Bucky’s back, so it wouldn’t slip. Bucky assumed that meant the wings might disappear, if Ianto calmed enough.

Bucky held Ianto close against his body with his left arm, and with the right tried to anchor the younger man with touch, alternating between brushing his hand up and down Ianto’s back or arm and running his hand through Ianto’s hair. He noticed that Ianto wept harder each time he touched his face, so he did this sparingly, though by instinct he knew it was not a negative response. It was a release. But he didn’t want to overwhelm him.

He gently rocked Ianto, either whispering to him or speaking to him telepathically. He shivered, and was glad that the Doctor had wrapped them in the blanket. Ianto’s core temperature had dropped, with the shock. He had not warmed up all that much overnight, though Bucky felt as though the younger man was now leaching the heat from his body. 

That was good, though. Bucky tended to run hot, and he was more than willing to share his body heat with his drakon. He knew from their moments of comfort in Wakanda that Ianto tended to run warm as well, so it felt wrong that he was so cold and disconsolate, now. 

He had wondered what the Doctor was waiting for, but he realized that Ianto’s mind needed to settle a bit and be far more calm before the Time Lord could attempt to heal him. He idly wondered how Ianto’s mind _could_ settle, if remembering the ordeal was tormenting him, so. He kissed the top of Ianto’s head and continued to mutter to him, sometimes in Russian, sometimes in English, sometimes telepathically. 

He had the feeling the variety and unexpectedness were actually helping Ianto to receive solace from Bucky’s words. He had awakened on high alert, his wings hiding him from the world, and it had taken Bucky quite a while to get past Ianto’s defenses and offer the comfort he needed.

Gin watched Ianto’s vitals as the two men continued to hold on to one another, wrapped up so tightly that only the top of Bucky’s head was visible. She wasn’t certain how either man could breathe properly, though Ianto’s oxygen cannula was likely coming in handy, at the moment. But they seemed fine, and Ianto’s numbers were stabilizing after having spiked when he first woke.

The Doctor watched as Bucky calmed Ianto, comforting him and doing far more to stabilize him than the entire night with Steve and Thor had done. He marveled at how quickly they had resolved their misunderstanding, but it spoke to their regard for and understanding of one another, and he briefly wondered if they even realized how close they had grown. He smiled as he saw a warm glow along their timelines, which he noticed were beginning to become intertwined, from this moment in time, on.

Bucky felt a strange sensation as Ianto calmed and began drifting. He seemed to be remembering a rare, soft moment from his childhood, and was somehow sharing it with Bucky. He was projecting, but the images he was sharing were not going beyond his wings. 

In his mind’s eye, Bucky could see Ianto’s mother holding him, much the same way Bucky was holding him, now. He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old. Somehow, Bucky knew that this was after a confrontation with Ianto’s father. He could see a bruise forming on the child’s arm, and a red mark along his cheek. He tempered his anger and continued to watch as Ianto’s mother began singing a sweet lullaby to the child, as he calmed. 

Bucky had the sudden insight that it was this memory, this song that allowed Ianto to weather the darkest moments of his life. He had sung it to himself in the darkness of his bedroom, after his mother died. And as he packed up his and Lisa’s apartments in London, before fleeing to Cardiff. Again as he scrubbed the Torchwood Three hub, after Lisa’s final death. And after the cannibals. And yet again, as he packed up Toshiko’s belongings.

Bucky found it telling that there were times Ianto had not sought the comfort of this memory, this song. Ianto used it sparingly, as though fearful its efficacy would diminish, if overused. Perhaps it was pure instinct that Ianto had never used it as a source of comfort, when Harkness had hurt him. 

Or perhaps there had simply been too many times.

Bucky knew that there was no point in trying to fathom the mysteries of whom people loved, and why. But what he did know was that Ianto loved as few do – with his entire soul – and he could not help but wonder how Harkness had even rated. 

Having met the man, Bucky’s heart went out to him. How could it not? Bucky was still only beginning to wrap his head around the idea of how long he was going to live, because of the serum. He couldn’t imagine the concept of the ‘thousands of years’ the lab monkeys had bandied about, much less immortality, so yeah. He understood Harkness, perhaps better than most. And he knew Harkness’d had no choice but to say those things to Ianto, on the Valiant. And that despite there being no choice, it still gnawed at the man’s conscience, even now.

But despite any compassion he might have for Harkness’ situation, or the impossible position he had found himself in on the Valiant, Bucky’s sympathy only extended so far. He had the unfortunate benefit of knowing the whole story – how much Harkness had hurt Ianto, and how often he had broken the younger man’s heart.

And for that he could find little compassion for the man.

Clearly, Bucky had come to realize a few basic truths. _Of course_ he knew. He had known since he’d picked up the Berlin classifieds and laughed out loud for the first time in almost seven decades at being called a relic. It was an easy thing to know. A simple, incontrovertible truth:

That when he had fled New York and the remnants of Hydra, Bucky had left his heart in the waistcoat pocket of a mad, beautiful, blue-eyed drakon.

And he had the faith of a child that it was in the best possible care.

Of course at first, it had been a simple oversight, borne of a gratitude too profound to articulate. But Bucky had been too discombobulated to realize its significance, much less hold any real, conscious regard for the man who had freed him. And then it was a subtle thing. A leaning. Then perhaps a crush, as he did his homework and learned a bit more about Ianto. (That hadn’t been easy, particularly when the already deeply buried and heavily encrypted information just seemed to evaporate, just before Novi Grad flew.)

But with each effort at getting to know Ianto better, particularly after spending time with him in Wakanda, Bucky realized, more and more. Yes, at first it had been gratitude. How could that _not_ have been the initial response? But that had long since evolved into something deep and pure, something based on _seeing_ Ianto and _knowing_ him, to the point where the Welshman was now rooted in the deepest part of Bucky’s psyche.

Yeah, Bucky was in love.

And that same instinct that had led him to this moment, _this_ moment, where he _knew_ he was actually helping Ianto, in return, that instinct told him that Ianto held him in some regard, as well. He was proud of himself, that he wasn’t running terrified from the room at the thought (his drakon needed him, after all), but there was still more than enough terror, that he was incapable of calling it anything more than ‘regard’.

For himself, Bucky _knew_ he was utterly unworthy of that… regard. But he also knew that he would cherish it, whatever form it settled into from here, with every breath until his last. Ianto deserved that, and more. 

His drakon deserved every good and wonderful thing.

***

Steve walked into the bedroom, holding two mugs of coffee. He gave one to Gin and kissed her on the cheek before staring at the bed. Thor came in with a mug of coffee and a mug of tea, which he handed to the Doctor. Natasha and Clint came in, as well, their eyes widening at the sight of the wings wrapped around the two men sitting on the bed.

The wings hid all but the top of Bucky’s head and his and Ianto’s legs. The right wing was almost fully folded in, as it was Ianto’s right side pressed so closely against Bucky’s chest. But it extended enough to wrap around Bucky’s left shoulder and then drape towards his head. The left wing wrapped around them both, enclosing Bucky’s right shoulder. The duvet was also covering them, and it was an odd sight, despite the beauty of the wings.

They could see that Bucky was rocking, and now they could hear a soft crooning. It was a sweet song, but they could not make out the words.

Natasha frowned. “That’s not Russian.”

“No,” the Doctor replied. “It’s Welsh. ‘Calon Lân’[2] is a hymn about wanting nothing more from life then an honest, pure, and happy heart.”

“A hymn?” Natasha raised a skeptical eyebrow. “But Ianto’s not even Christian.”

The Doctor shrugged. “Only the third verse makes any religious reference. And I’ve only heard the first two verses repeated, so far. A lullaby, perhaps?” he speculated.

“Doesn’t explain how Bucky knows a Welsh hymn, though,” Steve frowned, baffled.

“He’s singing it _with_ Ianto,” Gin smiled, looking at the Doctor. “Isn’t he?”

“I believe he is,” the Doctor returned her smile. “He seems to have instinctively realized that the best way to calm Ianto is to engage as many of his senses, as he can. That will soothe the empathic inflammation enough that I will be able to assist him.”

“Can’t you do that?” Clint asked.

“I suppose I could, but I would be forcing it,” the Doctor looked uncomfortable. “And given what has precipitated this, I believe that is the last thing Ianto needs, at the moment. So we wait. He was slightly better this morning, but still a good twenty-four hours from being able to tolerate my assistance. But with Sergeant Barnes helping him,” he closed his eyes and hummed. “Yes, another few hours should be sufficient.”

“But what is he doing?” Clint asked.

“Comforting him,” Natasha said, smiling.

The Doctor nodded. “The comfort of touch, the rocking, the singing, the reassurances,” he nodded again. “As I said before, Ianto’s mind is fragmented right now, chaotic. But some of that chaos must settle, before I can heal the damage the Master did.”

“I still don’t understand how _this_ Ianto was damaged by what someone did to him, in a memory,” Steve said.

The Doctor hesitated, trying to come up with a way to explain. “Because what he has remembered happened in an aborted timeline, it is as though the train car is running over a track that has, at the moment two stories on it, rather than one. What you saw last night included two versions of Ianto. But from his perspective, it was just him. One train car. One mind, living two realities. And since there was only one mind present for the Master to damage…” he trailed off. 

Some were nodding, and others still looked baffled. “Or perhaps it’s not unlike musical instruments,” he tried again. “Did you know, if you put a violin or harp or any other stringed instrument next to a piano, and struck a key on the piano, the corresponding string on the violin will vibrate? That’s called resonance. Unfortunately, psychic trauma can work in much the same way.”

“So Ianto in the nightmare was the piano?” Clint asked, nodding.

“Exactly,” the Doctor replied. “Sort of. If it helps,” he waved a hand. “But not really.”

He was completely oblivious to Gin’s and Thor’s chuckles, Steve’s rolled eyes, and Natasha’s murderous look. Clint held onto the piano metaphor, just to avoid a headache. It made as much sense as anything, after all.

***

After the lullaby, Gin had tapped Bucky on the head and handed him a few tissues, for Ianto. After Bucky helped him to blow his nose and replaced the cannula, Ianto had sighed deeply and settled against Bucky’s chest. His body temperature was finally warming up, and Bucky believed he was sleeping now, or at least resting. 

Bucky may have dozed for a few moments, himself. But he did not allow himself to drift for very long. He kept whispering comforting nonsense to Ianto, interspersed with kisses and caresses. Ianto occasionally whispered replies to Bucky telepathically, but he was not terribly coherent. Bucky couldn’t tell if this was exhaustion or the damage the Doctor hoped to repair, but in the end he didn’t suppose it mattered.

Every now and then, either Ianto’s arms or his wings would tighten around him, and he would press his face against Bucky, giving the distinct impression that given the chance, he would burrow into the older man’s chest and just curl up there around his heart. In those moments, Bucky would tighten his hold on Ianto, as well, and tell the Welshman that he was safe, that he was not alone, that his friends would protect him. It was all Bucky could think of, but it did seem to help, because little by little, Ianto seemed to relax. 

A few hours later, the wings became a bit more transparent, and then finally vanished, altogether. 

The Doctor took this as his cue to begin his work. “Sergeant, I would suggest that you go eat something and have a shower.”

Bucky looked down at Ianto, who was asleep in his arms. “I’m not leaving,” he said, and Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. Stubborn Bucky had arrived.

“I’m not asking you to,” the Doctor reasoned. “We will feed Ianto and get him to move around, and when you return, I’ll begin his healing. And he will continue to need someone near him. He has not yet fully recovered from the psychic shock, and honestly what I do may make it worse, for a few hours.”

Ianto stirred, and Bucky looked down at him. “Hey there, moy sonny Drakon[3]. How’re you feeling?”

Ianto pressed himself closer to Bucky. “’m cold,” he muttered, “an’ tired.”

“Ianto?” Gin sat on the bed with a pen light. “Can I get a look at you, ask some questions?”

Ianto shook his head and buried his face in Bucky’s chest. Bucky chuckled. _C’mon, Drakon. She’s barely slept, and she’s been looking after you since last night. Let her look you over, so we know how you’re doing, yeah?_

Ianto let out a groan, but he forced his eyes open and looked at Gin. “What?” he groused, but there was no heat behind it.

Gin chuckled. “How do you feel?”

Ianto closed his eyes. “Not great.”

“Which could mean anything from ‘hangnail’ to ‘at death’s door’. I’m gonna need you to be more specific, Ianto.”

“I dunno,” he said, trying to rub his face. “Cold. Tired. Chest hurts. Head’s not right, either.”

“His vocabulary might not be entirely at his disposal,” the Doctor pointed out.

Ianto jumped, his heart rate spiked, and he dove back into Bucky’s chest. _Who is that? How did he get here? What’s he doing in my bedroom?_

“Shhh,” Bucky was holding onto Ianto, talking to him in a soft tone. “That’s your friend the Doctor. Remember how he has different faces? You haven’t met this one yet, is all. But you know him.” _You’re safe, Drakon, I promise you. I won’t let anyone hurt you._

It took several minutes and another shot of sedative for Ianto to calm down. When he finally did, he looked blearily at the Doctor. “You regenerated,” he said.

“I did.”

“Was it that day that everyone had _his_ face?”

The Doctor’s eyes widened. “How did you know that?”

Ianto shrugged. “There was a weird sort of… shiver in the air, that day, after everything went back to normal.”

The Doctor just stared at him, for a moment. 

Gin decided to jump in, suggesting that Bucky go get cleaned up and have a bite to eat. Then she turned to Ianto.

“Let’s sit you up and get you to walk around. Do you need the bathroom?”

Bucky put on his shirt but made no move to leave until Ianto gave him a small smile and a nod. Natasha took Bucky by the arm, and while he allowed himself to be led from the room, he grumbled the whole way. The Doctor smiled after them as the others chuckled.

***

[1] My sweet dragon. I am so sorry.

[2] ‘A Pure Heart’

[3] My sleepy dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's been _ages_. I'm sorry. Every now and then, the words just sort of abandon me. Not a great feeling, but I know enough of what happens next in each of my little 'verses that I know I'm not done. Thanks for your patience, though. 
> 
> Next up is the beginning of the healing, then some more remembering that will help. Once Ianto is on the mend, a realization will have the team haring off to Cardiff. Then some time for Winter and Drakon to get better acquainted.
> 
> Thanks for your patience, and for sticking with me!


	56. Chapter 56

Bucky rushed through a shower before throwing on some clean clothes and heading back to Ianto’s apartment. He carried the bowl of stew Natasha forced into his hands back into the bedroom, where he sat out of the way and hurriedly ate as Gin and Steve finished feeding Ianto. They had helped him into some pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, and he sat leaning against the headboard of his bed, looking adorably rumpled and distressingly confused.

Ianto was doing his best to stay awake, but he was worn out from being up for the past half hour. Either fatigue or the drugs (perhaps both) had left him a bit out of it. Gin had been keeping him topped up on painkillers and sedatives all morning, trying to minimize the risk of another ‘event’. She was still working out the proper dosages of the new medications that had been developed for serum and other enhanced metabolisms, though, so arguably his latest doses had him a bit more glassy-eyed than strictly necessary, but she was erring on the side of caution. 

At this point, too little would be more dangerous than just a bit too much, particularly given how he had panicked upon hearing the Doctor’s voice. And not knowing how hard the Doctor’s healing would be on Ianto, she wasn’t going to take any chances. Thankfully, she now had a bead on the proper dosage, so it was just a matter of letting him sleep off any excess, once the Doctor was done.

Bucky finished his food and set aside his bowl as the Doctor beckoned to him. “It’s good you’re here, actually. I think you’ll help hold Ianto steady. Come here and make yourself comfortable,” the Doctor said.

Ianto looked slightly bewildered, but he blushed quite prettily when Bucky climbed into the bed beside him. Bucky gave him a shy smile, not realizing he was blushing as well, as he settled in beside the younger man, making sure not to touch him until the Doctor did something to alleviate his confusion.

“Your core temperature is still low,” the Doctor explained, doing Ianto the courtesy of speaking directly to him. “And not all of this glassiness in your eyes is due to your medications.” He waved his sonic screwdriver at Ianto and read the results. “You’re still in shock, and I’m fairly certain that’s going to get a bit worse before it starts to get better.”

“What do you mean?” Ianto asked weakly. “I don’t understand what’s happening…” He turned to look at Bucky, who was sitting to his right. “Winter?”

Bucky sighed, realizing that while Ianto had benefited from their time together earlier, he was still too muddled to have a firm grasp on what was happening. “Do you remember the nightmare you had, last night?” he asked, his voice low and gentle.

Impossibly, Ianto paled further. Then he frowned. “That…” He began breathing faster. “That’s why I feel so ill, right?”

Bucky reached out and took Ianto’s right hand in his left, relieved when Ianto allowed him to take his hand and pleased that he didn’t flinch, either at his touch or at the feel of the prosthetic. 

“And it’s why you’re so confused,” the Doctor added gently. “The psychic attack in your nightmare did some actual damage to your walking-around self.”

Ianto closed his eyes and tightened his grip on Bucky’s hand. He took a few moments to process what the Doctor had told him, but then nodded. “Yeah, okay. I get that.”

“If you will allow me, I can mend the damage from the Master’s attack,” the Doctor said.

“What did he do to me?” Ianto asked, looking haggard. Then, he startled and added, “I mean, to my mind?” He did _not_ want anyone describing the rest, out loud. He remembered all too well, now.

“Nothing you can’t heal from,” the Doctor assured him. “And you _could_ heal on your own, but it would be a long, painful process. Completely unnecessary, as I’m here. Will you allow me to help you?”

Ianto closed his eyes and turned within. He knew his mind wasn’t right. He remembered the state of things, before the nightmare. There had still been a long way to go, to heal from helping Winter. And he could still sense that damage, beneath the utter chaos that the Master had created. He gave a shudder, and felt Winter release his hand and wrap an arm around him, in comfort. It helped, but Ianto didn’t think he had it in him to endure the pain of this chaos while he slowly healed.

“What did he do to me?” he repeated, and Winter took Ianto’s right hand in his flesh hand, even as he pulled him a bit closer to him.

“What’s your perception of it?” the Doctor hedged.

“It’s like he came in and trashed my flat,” Ianto frowned. “Everything’s in disarray, like he pulled everything out of the cabinets in the kitchen, and everything off of the shelves in the living room, and everything out of the drawers in here, and everything off of the hangers, in the closets.”

“Yes,” the Doctor nodded. “Very apt. Essentially, he ransacked your mind, trying to make you give him the answer he was looking for.” He gave Ianto a long, steady look. “Thankfully, he had already decided what he wanted that answer to be, so you were able to conceal the true answer from him.”

The Doctor reached out and took Ianto’s free hand, startling the younger man. “You beat him, Ianto. You won. You kept back an answer that could have destroyed all our hopes. You saved us all.”

Ianto frowned as he remembered the answer he had held back. And the answer he had finally given, as he gave up his fight. 

Bucky could feel the moment Ianto remembered the speech the Master had forced Jack to give and connected the dot to how his relationship with Jack had eventually ended. He had spent the day processing the terror of the physical abuse, but he hadn’t had the wherewithal to process the emotional abuse, as yet. Bucky believed the Doctor had hoped that addressing the psychic damage would ease the emotional aspect, but they had not been quick enough.

Ianto hissed and leaned away from Bucky’s one-armed embrace. He drew his knees up and curled in on himself. Soon his head was between his knees and his arms were flung over his head, and his breathing was becoming erratic.

“I was afraid of this,” the Doctor muttered.

“Then why didn’t you wait until after you healed him, to bring it up?” Bucky snarked. “It’s not like Ianto _likes_ being called a hero.”

“You’re right, I should have waited,” the Doctor scrubbed his hand over his face. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I was there too, remember? It was a torment, to watch.”

Bucky sighed, nodding his understanding, then he wrapped his arms around Ianto and hauled him back into his lap, again. _You’d better not be making up any stories to tell yourself, about being unloved or unlovable._

Ianto sobbed.

_‘cause I’m here to tell you right now, it’s bullshit. If your ex had a problem with monogamy, that’s on him, not you. There are a lot of people who have loved you, Drakon. And plenty more, who still do. C’mon, listen. Your nan, right? And your ma?_

Ianto lowered his arms slowly as Bucky continued.

_And Lisa, Toshiko, Myfanwy. I always say that pterosaurs are the best judges of character, ya know. And the Queen, for crying out loud!_

Ianto gave a soft snort.

_And how about Coulson? And then there’s Natasha, Clint, and Steve. And Gin, Pepper, Tony, Bruce, Thor, Wanda, Pietro, Sam, Rhodey, even Vision. Never mind Shuri and Okoye, and even T’Challa, when you’re not flirting with his baby sister._

Ianto huffed and Bucky hesitated before adding the last. _And then… well… there’s me…_

Ianto blinked and leaned away so he could look at Bucky. “What about you?”

Bucky turned pink to the ears. _Well, I think you’re kinda special, too._

Ianto’s pale complexion turned a bit pink too, and he gave a small smile. “Yeah?”

“Well… yeah,” Bucky replied.

Ianto’s lips quirked, a bit more. He leaned in and kissed Bucky on the cheek. “Likewise.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he smiled, leaning back. “And you’re right.”

“I am?”

“Yes. Pterosaurs are _excellent_ judges of character.”

Bucky burst out laughing. And just like that, a panic attack was defused. There were still shadows around Ianto’s eyes – it wasn’t something he’d be likely to just get over, that quickly – but Bucky had kept him from spinning out. And that was more than they could have hoped for, really.

The Doctor huffed out a breath. “Will you allow me to heal some of the damage in there?” He pointed vaguely at Ianto’s head.

“Yes,” Ianto nodded. “Thank you.”

Ianto sat against the headboard again, his legs folded tailor-style. The Doctor sat in front of him and reached out, only for the younger man to lean away from him, his eyes suddenly wary. “This won’t be like,” he said, looking fearful, all of a sudden, “like what you did to Donna, will it?”

The Doctor’s hand dropped, along with his stomach. “How do you know Donna?” he asked.

“She’s with Torchwood, now,” Ianto replied. “I’ve spoken with her a lot about the archives, and met her, once. She was complaining of headaches, and I kind of knew…”

“You’re the one who helped her,” the Doctor breathed, looking awed. “Wilf had called me, asking for my help, but then when I showed up I was a couple of weeks late. He said an angel of mercy had already helped her. Made her headaches go away.”

“Wilf is prone to hyperbole,” Ianto said, looking a bit cross at having been given so much credit.

The Doctor felt a pang, because he realized the source of Ianto’s discomfort with any sort of praise. He simply had no frame of reference, no place to put it. It spoke to the impact of his abuse that praise was literally incomprehensible to him, and just kind of… bounced off of him. 

And it took _this_ to realize… He looked up and saw that Bucky had already figured this out. The Doctor was sorry that Jack had run from something that could have been quite special, but he was glad to see that Ianto had found someone who could understand and appreciate him. Both Ianto and Bucky deserved that sort of tenderness, after all they had been through.

He sighed, looking very old, and very sad. “Donna’s mind would have burned up, if I hadn’t taken away her memories of me. What I had to do to her was very different from what I would like to do, for you.”

“Can you tell me?” Ianto looked… sad, as tears formed but did not fall. “I’m sorry, but I’m…” he looked away now, the sadness morphing into something else. “I’m afraid,” he whispered, ashamed.

The Doctor reached out and took Ianto’s hand, surprised and glad when the younger man didn’t flinch away from his touch. “Ianto, you have every right to be. Actually, I’d be worried about you, if you weren’t.” He waited until Ianto looked at him, again. “What I would like to do is… _un_ -ransack your mind.”

Ianto frowned, his agile mind clearly dulled by the chaos inside.

“Think of it as putting clothes back on their hangers in the closet, folding things and putting them in the drawers in here, putting all of the books in their rightful places on the bookshelves in the living room…” he trailed off as Ianto nodded.

“Yes, that,” he nodded again, giving a small, pained smile. “Please.”

“Okay, then,” the Doctor smiled. “Anything else, before I start?”

Ianto shook his head and tried to sit up from the tired slump he had settled into. Bucky straightened as well, and moved closer to support Ianto.

The Doctor leaned in once more, and pressed his right hand against Ianto’s left temple. This time, Ianto did flinch, the memory of the Master touching him in much the same way too fresh. The Doctor heard Bucky’s reassuring voice echoing through Ianto’s mind and into his.

_You’re all right, Drakon. I’ve got you._

Ianto closed his eyes as the Doctor gently nudged into his mind and began tidying up, mending the damage the Master had inflicted. There were things that the Master had torn apart, other things, he had ripped from their places. Still others were simply shredded. Metaphorically speaking, Ianto’s mindscape was raw, bloody, and bleeding.

Ianto whimpered as the Doctor was forced to move things around in order to put them back together, again. This caused additional pain, but it was necessary. As the chaos began to be tamed and order was restored, the Doctor could see the changes the Mind Stone had effected. 

An already lovely mind had been made breathtakingly beautiful.

It was some wonder that the memory of the Master’s assault had been able to have any effect on Ianto, but the Doctor quickly understood that some sort of trauma had lowered Ianto’s defenses. Bucky had told him that the dragon avatar had collapsed _before_ the nightmare about the Valiant had even begun, and the Doctor now realized that Ianto had remembered something else, first. 

With this new insight, he began looking around, and almost immediately realized what he was seeing. He sighed, hating himself for what he was about to do.

“Ianto,” he called softly.

Ianto slowly opened his eyes, blinking back tears.

“Ianto, I’m sorry, but I have to ask. When your friends found you, you were on the floor, and the nightmare about the Year had only just begun. But your dragon collapsed and your tree wilted _before_ that. Do you know why?”

Ianto squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, leaning back against Bucky.

The Doctor looked very sad. “I’m sorry, Ianto, but I have to ask. The damage you’ve taken is because you remembered the Year. But something else triggered those memories and lowered your defenses, yes?”

Ianto took a deep breath, and then another. The Doctor had done enough that he could feel the improvement. He could actually hold two thoughts together. But it wasn’t enough. He shook his head again, not wanting to answer.

The Doctor pressed on. “Ianto, whatever it is, it’s blocking me from doing any more, and there is still a lot I can do, if we can get past this. I think,” he hesitated, glancing at Bucky before looking back at Ianto, “I think if you tell us about it, it will soften enough that I’ll be able to finish.”

Ianto wouldn’t open his eyes. He leaned forward and covered his face with his hands. He was trembling. After a moment, he dropped his hands. Bucky hated how miserable he looked. Ianto pointed to the throw blanket at the foot of the bed, and the Doctor reached for it. Once he and Bucky had wrapped it around Ianto’s shoulders, Ianto drew his knees up, hugging his legs to his body as he rested his forehead on his knees.

The Doctor realized that the only way Ianto felt he could face the memories, much less speak of them, was with his face hidden. He briefly wondered what level of shame could drive such an impulse, knowing that whether he wanted to or not, he would soon find out.

Ianto began speaking, his voice soft and rough and low. “When we were in Wakanda, some of the… things… I took from Winter were… familiar.”

“Echoes of your own experiences?” the Doctor asked.

Ianto nodded into his knees. “There was one memory,” he paused, and turned his head to Bucky. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Go on,” Bucky encouraged. “You took the pain of it from me, remember? You won’t hurt me, in mentioning it.”

Ianto turned back to his knees. “Rumlow grabbed Winter,” he said, his voice wobbling. He let out a sob, but then tried to steady himself. “Reached out with his left hand, grabbed his tackle, and gave it a _twist_.”

To his credit, Bucky was entirely focused on Ianto. The memory wasn’t a good one, but it was bearable. He sucked in a deep breath and all but sat on his hands to keep from reaching out to Ianto, who was curling further in on himself, the more he spoke.

Ianto sniffed. “That triggered the dreams of the Valiant, but they were fragmented and took a while to form a picture of what it was I was remembering. But I remembered enough, from the dreams, to know that the Master grabbed me, exactly that way. Reached out with his left hand, grabbed ahold, and gave a twist before he… cut me…” his voice broke.

He whooped in a breath and sat very still for a long moment. “And I knew there was more, simmering below the surface.” He turned his head and looked at Bucky, again. “That’s why I said no,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t want our first time to trigger a flashback, or something.”

Bucky was overwhelmed with regret. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized again. “I made it about me, and I shouldn’t have done that.” He shook his head. “I should have heard you out.”

Ianto cringed away from the strong feelings that Bucky was projecting, unable to block them. The Doctor reached out and lay a hand on the back of Ianto’s neck, feeling the younger man relax slightly as he shared his psychic shielding.

“It’s okay,” Ianto replied. “We both could have handled it better, when you started spinning out.” He sighed. “Our words in the hallway last night had me thinking about it all. I came in here and fell onto the bed. So tired, but couldn’t switch off. Heard you lot come in, but couldn’t make myself get up. I just couldn’t get how Rumlow grabbed you out of my head.”

“And that’s when you remembered,” the Doctor prompted.

Ianto sobbed again and turned his head back to his knees. “It wasn’t a sexual thing,” he said, his voice quieter than ever.

“It rarely is,” Bucky said, sharing a pained look with the Doctor. “It’s usually more about power. Sex is just the tool for exerting that power.”

Ianto nodded. “Yeah. And it’s not like I’d forgotten. Actually worked on it a lot, with the counsellor back at uni. But I don’t think I’d ever… connected the dots. Remembered all of it, all at once. It took me by surprise, is all.”

Bucky gave the Doctor a startled look. Was Ianto saying he had remembered more than one assault? “What did you remember?” he rasped, his throat dry and constricted.

“I was a nerdy, bookish kid,” Ianto said, his voice faraway. “Didn’t care for sport, though at me tad’s insistence, I was in an under ten’s rugby club. But I was a skinny kid. Small for my age. Late bloomer. Didn’t get past five foot seven until I was eighteen.” He sniffed, catching himself running off on a tangent, to avoid saying the thing.

He took a deep breath. “It was after the first game. I was seven, I think. Mam was in Providence Park again. I was so much smaller than the others, and the coach didn’t really tell us the rules. It wasn’t any fun, and I really didn’t understand the point of it. So I didn’t play well. We got home and… and he reached down and just… just _grabbed_ me. Grabbed and twisted. Asked if I was really a boy. Said after the way I’d played, he needed to check to be sure I didn’t have a cunt, rather than meat and veg.”

Ianto sobbed, then swiped at the tears. “It hurt for a week,” he confessed.

“Did he do that often?” the Doctor asked, being sure to shield Ianto from Bucky’s fury. He reached out a hand and grasped Bucky’s arm, trying to convey the need for him to keep calm. Bucky gave a nod, his own eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Three times, altogether,” Ianto answered. “But that first time, Rhia was there.”

“Your sister?” the Doctor asked, frowning as he saw Bucky’s anger flare again.

Ianto nodded. “She must’ve remembered, because,” he sniffed. “It was mid-July. I was almost sixteen, set to leave at the end of August, to go to uni. She was already angry, because she took all my earnings from the corner grocery, and that was going to stop in another month, or so. But then, the owner’s son had his birthday, which meant he was old enough to be hired, which meant they didn’t need me. Gave me my final wages and told me goodbye."

“And your sister didn’t take it well, that you lost your job?” the Doctor asked.

“Slapped me a couple of times,” Ianto said. “Had me by the knackers and the throat, when Johnny came in and broke it up. I just ran.”

“But she grabbed you, the way he did?” the Doctor looked disgusted.

Ianto nodded. “ _Really_ hurt. I had to stop at the corner, to vomit.”

“What did you do?”

“Slept rough a few nights. Watched the house and when she was out I went in and packed my stuff. Johnny came in before I could get out, though. He gave me enough cash to get the train to London.” He sniffed. “But I was too early. Wouldn’t get a dorm assignment for five more weeks. I managed to pick a few pockets. Was barely enough to rent a luggage locker, for my stuff.”

He was still shaking, still crying. “Lived rough for about a week. Almost got caught stealing, which would’ve cost me my spot at uni. Kept all of the wallets, though, and remembered how much was in each. When I got a job, first thing I did was replace the money and send them back to their owners.” 

He sniffed again. “Didn’t help.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's still coming slowly, but wanted to post a chapter and say hello. Sorry it's been a dry spell, but maybe the words will start flowing again, soon. I know this isn't the best, but I can't seem to tighten it up - maybe that's why I got stuck, who knows?
> 
> Anyway, thanks for sticking with me.
> 
> Happy Mabon, and thanks for reading!


	57. Chapter 57

Bucky asked Ianto if he could touch him, and upon receiving an affirmative reply, he simply placed his hand on Ianto’s back, his thumb rubbing back and forth, soothingly.

“What happened after the week?” the Doctor asked. 

“Stumbled into a coffee house,” Ianto said. “Could get a cuppa pretty cheap, and some of them would give away their stale pastries. I’d been trying to keep clean, but I hadn’t eaten in a couple of days, and I must’ve looked desperate. One of the baristas took pity on me.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked, trying not to sound suspicious.

“We got to talking. I told him I had a spot waiting for me at uni, but didn’t have a place to stay before the term started. He didn’t believe me, at first, because I was a little young, for a first year. Had to show him the paperwork, but once I did, he said I could crash on his couch. And he talked his boss into hiring me.” 

Ianto allowed himself a small smile. “Soren was the first friend I made in London. He helped me sort the dorm assignment – exchange it for a rental allowance, so we could both save money, sharing a flat. Told his boss he could have both of us for half wages until school started, when he’d have a proper opening for me. Spent those weeks training me.”

“No wonder your coffee is so good,” the Doctor chuckled. “There has been a great deal of speculation, you know.”

“He died,” Ianto’s voice had grown flat, despondent. “Soren. In the battle. Was probably a Cyberman that got him, based on the scorch marks on his shoulder. Incompatible, I suppose.” He sniffed. “Kindest man I ever knew.”

The Doctor winced and ran a hand down his face. Before he could say anything, Ianto continued.

“Third year, was at a party. Wasn’t drunk, but happy. Got to talking to this guy about an astronomy class we were both in. Well, he was in the class. I was just auditing it. Soren and a few of the others were laughing. Told me later the guy was sending out signals, but I was oblivious. I was just having fun, being a nerd. Later in the evening, the guy shoved me in a corner, stuck his tongue down my throat, and grabbed a handful.”

He hugged himself even more tightly. “Counsellor had spent more than two years by then, telling me it was my choice, whether I wanted to be touched or not, and that it was okay to not want to be, and to defend myself, if anyone ever tried to do what my father or sister had done.”

“What happened?” Bucky asked.

“I… I started hitting him, and I just… I couldn’t stop.” He sniffed. “Soren and Dave pulled me off of him and we legged it. Found out later he wasn’t hurt too badly. But it had gotten out that he’d been beaten up for trying to force himself on someone. Another guy and a couple of girls came forward, accusing him of the same thing. He ended up being brought up on charges.”

Ianto was quiet for several moments before continuing. “And then the cannibals,” he sighed.

“Cannibals?” the Doctor asked, startled.

Ianto sniffed. “Torchwood case, but shouldn’t have been. We went out into the countryside, to check out some disappearances. No aliens, but…”

“Cannibals,” Bucky shook his head.

“They caught Tosh and me, but she was able to get away,” he whispered, shaking.

Bucky had a feeling he knew how Tosh had gotten away.

“There were five of them,” Ianto went on. “Tenderizing me.”

“Tenderizing?” the Doctor looked ill.

“Fists, mostly. But one of them had a baseball bat.” He went quiet, again. “And one of them… grabbed me. Like… before. Licked my face. I was tied up, and couldn’t get away from him. His friends made him stop with the groping, so they could finish beating me.” He let out a sob. After a moment, he spoke again. “I have more nightmares about the groping than the beating.”

“And all these memories just came back to you, last night?” Bucky asked gently, after a few moments of silence.

Ianto nodded, and the Doctor stared at him, hard. 

“But there’s more, isn’t there?” he asked.

Ianto was quiet for a long moment. When he finally began speaking, the Doctor was momentarily confused.

“The rift doesn’t just spit things out, you know,” Ianto spoke, his voice rough and low. “It takes things, too. Sometimes, it takes people.” He hesitated when he felt the Doctor flinch. “And sometimes, it gives them back. Except the rift is like a spoilt toddler that plays too rough with its toys before tossing them back in the toy chest, broken beyond repair.”

“What happens to them?” Bucky asked, appalled.

Ianto turned to look at him, his eyes sad. “When Jack took over Torchwood Three in 2000, he found two. Just two, in the vaults, locked up in the cells. Found out they’d just execute the ones who were too far gone.”

“Bloody Torchwood,” the Doctor muttered darkly.

Ianto sniffed, resting his forehead against his knees, again. “It took him a while to piece it all together, but once he did, he established a facility to take care of them, properly. When I left, the two he’d found in the vaults were still there, and doing pretty well. As well as they could be doing, anyway. The facility is on an island in the Bay, called Flat Holm.” 

He went quiet for a moment. “Jack knew he would find you, and that he would leave with you, when he did. Even so, he had no contingency plan in place, for Torchwood, or for Flat Holm.” He huffed. “He never did explain why that was, exactly. Not to my satisfaction, anyway.”

“The team did well in his absence, though,” the Doctor pointed out, remembering Jack’s pride, when he spoke of them.

“Oh we did, did we?” Ianto huffed again. “No. We managed to figure it out without dying, first. And in the midst of doing our own jobs, covering for Jack so UNIT didn’t stomp in and take over, being sent on a wild goose chase to the Himalayas, and just treading water without a proper leader, I saw an email from Flat Holm, requesting supplies.”

“How did they know to email you?” the Doctor frowned.

Ianto gave a shrug. “I’d hacked into Jack’s email, to be sure we didn’t miss anything important.” He paused before continuing. “Gods, but I _hate_ that place,” he breathed.

“Why?” the Doctor looked perplexed. Finally, an example of Torchwood trying to do something right. Not that Torchwood Three didn’t usually, but what was there, to hate?

“All of those people, broken by aliens. No chance of ever getting better. It… It hits too close to home,” he sniffed. 

“It reminds you of Lisa Hallett,” the Doctor nodded. He was not surprised to see Bucky moving a bit closer to Ianto, offering more comfort.

Ianto cleared his throat. “When Jack got back, he let me keep running the place.”

“Let?” Bucky asked, wondering at the choice of words, given Ianto’s confession that he hated the place.

Ianto shrugged. “Keeping them comfortable. It’s not much, but it’s something, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky leaned his forehead onto Ianto’s shoulder. This drakon was going to break his heart, he just knew it. 

“What does Flat Holm have to do with…” the Doctor trailed off as Ianto continued to speak.

“The families of those taken don’t know anything about what happened to their loved ones,” Ianto said, his voice low. “I still think a body could be faked. Give them a funeral. Closure. Jack never agreed. So when the mother of a missing boy began crusading to find her lost child, the disappearances got onto Gwen’s radar. And I just _knew_ …” he sniffed and went silent, fighting for control.

“What did you know, Drakon?” Bucky asked, after the moment drew out.

“I knew that not only were we offering no closure to the families, but now she was going to go in and _investigate_. Interview the families. Tear open wounds that could never even heal properly. Because of _her_ need to know,” he sneered.

“Jack says she is a driven investigator,” the Doctor said, trying to keep his voice neutral. He’d be willing to bet that this was the first time Ianto had ever allowed his resentment of Gwen Cooper to surface. 

“Did Jack also say that she’s insubordinate, defiant, and closed-minded? He told her to shut down her investigation, and she told him point-blank that she wouldn’t.”

“Why didn’t he want her to know?” the Doctor asked, wondering for a moment why Jack would tolerate such open defiance of his authority.

“To protect her. Them. He didn’t want any of the team to know.”

“But you knew,” the Doctor pointed out, and Ianto snorted derisively. “And protect them from what?”

“No idea,” Ianto shrugged. “Pretty sure we were already well aware that there are some things that just can’t be fixed.”

“And you thought the team should have been read in?” Bucky asked.

“I thought they should know about the negative rift spikes, and that there was a facility. I was fine with them never seeing it or setting foot there.”

“So you _do_ agree with the need to protect?” the Doctor asked. He wasn’t trying to argue with Ianto, just understand.

“A person can know about negative rift spikes and that sometimes people are returned, broken. That knowledge won’t hurt them.” He turned to Bucky. “Does it?”

“No,” Bucky answered, sad to know of such things, but no worse for knowing it.

“But they don’t need to _see_ the girl who had ninety percent of the skin on her body branded. Or the man who somehow survived being partially skinned. Or the boy who returned a few months after he was taken, forty years older, burned beyond recognition and driven so mad by the things he’d seen that he screamed for twenty hours a day.” Ianto shuddered at the memory of Jonah Bevan’s scream.

“So what happened?” the Doctor asked, looking incredibly old and sad.

“I gave Gwen the GPS coordinates for Flat Holm.”

“Against Jack’s orders.”

“Yes.”

“And how did he react to _your_ insubordination?” the Doctor wasn’t sure he wanted to know, realizing Ianto’s resentment likely stemmed from Jack’s double standard.

“I was able to make him understand why I did it, but he was still pretty angry.” Ianto hesitated before continuing, “Usually, we were pretty good at letting off steam, but it wasn’t often that our anger was directed at one another.” He went quiet again.

It took a moment for the Doctor to realize that Ianto was talking about sex. With Jack. If not for the circumstances, Bucky would have been amused at how the Time Lord hemmed a bit before hesitantly asking, “Did he hurt you?”

“I knew it was a game,” Ianto sniffed again. “When it was a game, it would always start with Jack saying that I’d been bad, and he was going to punish me, or that he’d been bad, and…” he shrugged, too ill to be embarrassed. “But I could _feel_ how angry he still was, and he was rougher than usual. He grabbed me by the throat with his right hand, and shoved me against the wall. And with his left…”

Ianto sobbed. “He… he g-grabbed me, _hard_. I knew it was just part of the g-game, but all of a sudden, he gave his hand a _twist_ , and I couldn’t… I couldn’t b-breathe. And I couldn’t… _th-think_. I… He wouldn’t _stop_.” He went on to describe Jack enjoying the struggle, thinking it was part of the game, while Ianto was too petrified to remember how to end it. 

“I tried to push him away, but I was too panicked,” he continued. “I reached out, and everything on the table by the door got pushed to the floor, except for a stone owl that Lisa had given me.” 

He could almost feel the heft of the heavy obsidian carving in his hand, but what came next was a blank. He only knew the result.

“It… I… I k-killed him,” he breathed, suddenly far too calm for the level of trauma the Doctor had sensed. As Ianto began scrambling from the bed, the Doctor reached for the small bin sitting nearby, getting it in front of Ianto just in time as the younger man began heaving violently into it.

Bucky supported Ianto, holding onto him as he retched and coughed. He was ill for several long minutes before his body began to calm. Even then, he continued to weep. Powerful tremors wracked his body as he seemed to unravel at the memory of killing his lover. 

“Ianto,” the Doctor set aside the bin and reached out, wiping Ianto’s face with a handkerchief before taking the younger man’s face in his hands. “It’s all right. You know Jack wasn’t permanently harmed.” He understood his error as Ianto gasped and wrenched from his grasp.

“You don’t understand,” he wept.

“Shhh,” Bucky pulled Ianto into his arms, allowing the younger man to weep into his neck. “I’ve got you, Drakon.” He ran his flesh hand through Ianto’s hair as he stroked his back with the other. He spoke soothing nonsense for a few moments, taking slow, deep breaths. Eventually, Ianto’s breath began to entrain with Bucky’s, and he slowly regained some of his composure.

“Just because Jack comes back, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt him to die,” Bucky said in a low voice, and Ianto keened as he nodded into his neck. “And it doesn’t mean it’s any easier, to watch it happen. But that’s not the real problem, is it?” 

Ianto shook his head.

“You don’t remember doing it, do you?” Bucky asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Ianto’s sob was enough of an answer, but he spoke, his voice ragged. “I t-… I tried to push Jack away, but he… he pulled me away from the door and slammed me back into it. I saw stars, and my hand found the owl on the table beside the door. J-Jack squeezed tighter, with both hands. I… I c-couldn’t breathe. I don’t remember hitting him… I didn’t mean to…”

He sobbed again and Bucky pulled him closer. “Shhh, Drakon. It’s all right. You are allowed to defend yourself. And I’m sure the Doctor can scan you and tell you, once and for all, that you’re not like your mother.”

Finally, the Doctor began to understand. “Ianto, what’s this about your mother?”

Bucky smiled at the Time Lord, grateful he didn’t ask Ianto what was _wrong_ with his mother. 

“Psychotic and catatonic depression,” Ianto whispered, sitting slowly away from Bucky. “She had terrible anxiety, and would have psychotic breaks from reality, hearing things, speaking in tongues…”

“Thought disorder,” the Doctor murmured. “Was she…”

“They ruled out schizophrenia,” Ianto preempted the Doctor’s question. “She’d be fine for a while, then you could see the depression taking over. She’d have a psychotic episode, and then be catatonic for extended periods.” He sniffed. “She was in and out of the mental institution, and then after they sent… _him_ … to prison, she seemed to get better. For about four years, she was fine. The depression came again, but it was different – no anxiety, psychosis, or catatonia, but in the end, she still…” he sniffed. “She killed herself.”

Bucky wrapped the blanket back around Ianto, who had gone back to hugging his knees.

“I’m so sorry,” the Doctor said. He scanned Ianto, and looked at the readings. He nodded, having confirmed his own thoughts. “But Ianto, whatever the reason for your mother’s illness, please set your mind at ease, that you do not have those same predispositions.”

Ianto’s head came up, and he looked at the Doctor, hope and confusion warring in his eyes. “I don’t?”

The Doctor sighed. “You have had more than enough happen in your life, that it’s only natural for you to exhibit the occasional symptom of depression.” He reached down and took Ianto’s hand. “But you are _so_ _strong_ , Ianto. You may resemble your mother in certain patterns of behavior, but that won’t translate to the tendencies that took her from you. Not now.”

The Doctor did not feel it necessary to point out that Ianto could have easily taken that path before his encounter with the Mind Stone, but now it was impossible. And it spoke to Ianto’s strength of will that, even before the Mind Stone, he had not surrendered to what must have been very strong tendencies. Doubtless his drive to protect others had kept him from succumbing, particularly after losing Lisa and when Jack left. Even Ianto’s departure from Torchwood could have been catastrophic, but still he resisted those urges to just make the pain stop.

The Doctor recognized that it was not entirely down to Ianto’s strength, but also his need to do penance. Jack had once confided that Ianto endured so relentlessly, in part because he saw his pain as his punishment for his own wrongdoings and perceived shortcomings. And it was all too easy to see how the abuse he had endured also contributed to his sense of deserving the pain. 

The Doctor was happy that he would be able to help to ease some of those tendencies, now that Ianto was digging them up. Ultimately, this spike in his suffering would lead to his healing. They just had to get him through it.

“What happened when Jack revived?” the Doctor asked, his voice gentle.

Ianto closed his eyes, remembering, and the projected memory unfolded, before them. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so once we get past this memory, the healing will commence, and some recuperative cuddles will be in order.
> 
> Just one more chapter in this arc, then it will feed into the next. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy - thanks for reading!


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Brose1001, who asked so sweetly.  
> ❤

“What happened when Jack revived?” the Doctor asked, his voice gentle.

Ianto closed his eyes, remembering, and the projected memory unfolded, before them. 

***

_Jack gasped back to life, only to find Ianto sitting beside him, obsessively attempting to wipe the blood off of the stone owl that he’d just brained Jack with. But his handkerchief and hands were drenched in blood, and all he was doing was smearing it around._

_“Ianto?” Jack frowned. Realization morphed his expression from one of anger and confusion to guilt and horror. “Ianto?” he reached out, gently touching Ianto’s arm._

_“It’s Jack’s blood,” Ianto whispered. “It won’t come off. I didn’t mean it. But I couldn’t get him to stop.” Ianto was sitting tailor-style on the floor, his legs folded and crossed, and he was rocking back and forth as he continued to smear blood around on the stone owl._

_“Ianto,” Jack moved closer and wrapped his arms around the younger man, pulling the stone and handkerchief from his trembling hands. “Why didn’t you use your word?”_

_“My word?” Ianto asked, blinking in confusion. “There are so many words, Jack. How do you choose just one?” Then, to Jack’s horror, Ianto began singing to himself as he continued to rock and stare at his bloody hands. “Talk, in everlasting words, and dedicate them all to me…” **[1]** He hummed for a bit, then looked at Jack. “Me mam used to listen to that song, all the time.” He scrunched up his nose. “I don’t think I like it.”_

_“Ianto,” Jack hardened his voice, despite his obvious fear. “Ianto, report!”_

_The order seemed to snap Ianto out of one strange state and into another. “Jack,” he cried, his face a mask of anguish. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it,” Ianto sobbed, grabbing the hair at his temples and pulling as he rocked to and fro. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it.”_

_Jack gently pulled Ianto’s hands down and drew him close. “I’m alright, Ianto. Everything’s fine. I’m alright. No harm done.” Jack’s hands were shaking, now. “Ianto, can you hear me?”_

_“Jack?” Ianto looked up, his eyes wide and wild. “Jack, I’m sorry. I… I already have everything ready, for you, though.”_

_Jack frowned. “What do you mean?”_

_Ianto jumped up from his place on the floor, grabbing Jack’s hand and hauling him up, as well. He twitched with nervous energy as he led Jack over to the coffee table, where there was a pistol, a glass of water, and a bottle of pills._

_“I wasn’t sure which you’d want, once you found out,” Ianto said, his words tumbling out so quickly they almost ran together._

_“Found out?” Jack was shaking his head, apparently trying to clear it._

_“I betrayed you again,” Ianto said simply. He turned to Jack, his eyes still wide. “I told Gwen about Flat Holm. I knew you’d be angry. So everything is ready, whether you choose a bullet or Retcon. I thought it’d be okay for you to punish me, but I’m sorry, you grabbed me the way **he** used to, and I panicked. So I think you’ll just have to settle for one of these,” he gestured to the table. _

_He paused, looking thoughtful, and his next words came out a bit more slowly. “But if I have any say at all, I think I’d prefer to have you just shoot me, please.” He blinked at Jack, his eyes wet. “I don’t want to forget you, Jack.”_

_Jack had gone very, very still. “The way… Who, Ianto? Who grabbed you, that way?”_

_Ianto rolled his eyes. “Dafydd. The sperm donor.”_

_What little color Jack had after reviving drained from his face. “Your father… grabbed you? Like that?”_

_“Said he was checking, to make sure I was actually a lad,” Ianto shrugged. He was still twitching. “I was a bit of a disappointment, see.” His eyes widened, and his words sped up, again. “Jack! That’s it! I’m a disappointment! I can never seem to get it quite right! But now you can help me fix it!”_

_Without any hesitation, he reached down and grabbed the pistol from the table. Releasing the safety, he quickly raised it so the barrel was tucked tightly beneath his chin. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispered. “I should have let you punish me. But we can fix it, now.”_

_“Ianto,” Jack’s hand shot out and he shoved his thumb between the hammer and the slide as his other hand re-engaged the safety. He pulled the gun from Ianto’s hands and tossed it across the room, seeing the younger man’s confusion change to horror, and then shame._

_“Jack, you have to!” he shouted. “I betrayed you – again! And I… I k-k-killed you. Please, Jack!”_

_“Ianto,” Jack pulled Ianto into his arms and made gentle shushing noises as the younger man wept. “It’s all right. We’ll fix this. I promise.” He sat Ianto down on the sofa, keeping his arms around him. “How about we Retcon this hour away?”_

_Ianto shook his head. “Won’t work,” he cried. “I’m immune to any dose under thirty-six hours.”_

_“Okay, so let’s try this, then,” Jack said, putting his hands on either side of Ianto’s face and pulling him in for a kiss._

_As Jack Harkness kisses went, it was pretty tame. But then a golden glow began to emanate from him and surrounded Ianto. Ianto gasped and pulled away from him._

_“What was that?” He shook his head, as though trying to get his bearings. Already he seemed calmer, and Jack was encouraged to see that he had stopped twitching._

_“Bit of vortex energy,” Jack said, keeping a hand on Ianto’s arm. “Was hoping it’d stabilize you.” He looked closely at Ianto. “Did it?”_

_“I don’t know. Maybe, a little,” Ianto frowned. “But Jack…”_

_“I know.”_

_“I… I’ve feared this, for as long as I can remember.”_

_“Feared what?”_

_“My mother…” he hesitated. “She…”_

_“I know,” Jack didn’t make him say it. “But that doesn’t mean you will.”_

_“Pretty sure I just did,” Ianto rubbed his forehead with one hand. “What are we going to do?”_

_“If I tell you what I think we should do, I need you to promise to hear me out, and try not to panic.”_

_“Okay…” Ianto looked petrified._

_“Let me call Owen.”_

_“No! Absolutely not!” he jumped up and began backing away._

_Jack caught his hand and pulled him gently back. Ianto sat down, but began rocking again. “Ianto, you’re panicking.”_

_Ianto stopped rocking for a moment and drew in a deep breath. “And what will Owen be doing, besides adding to my humiliation?”_

_“C’mon, Ianto. You know better than that,” Jack sighed. “I can get him to infect you with that strain of Calathorian flu he’s been studying. It will make you ill for about three days. After two, we can Retcon you and plant the memory of you fighting the Calathorian that gave you those bruises,” he flinched as he nodded to the bruises he had caused, around Ianto’s throat. “We can say that it infected you before it disappeared back through the rift, and you’ll be out of work, ill.”_

_“If you’re going to Retcon me and program in that I’ve been ill, why do I actually have to_ be _ill?” Ianto asked._

_“You think you can sit here for two days in your current state of mind, waiting for enough time to pass so the Retcon will take?”_

_Ianto closed his eyes. It was taking all of his will not to make a grab for the gun Jack had tossed aside._

_“Call Owen.”_

***

Ianto lay on his side, curled up into a ball with his head in Bucky’s lap. He had made himself impossibly small, and though his entire body thrummed with tension, his face was slack. His eyes, red and wet from the memories, had taken on a flat, almost sickly azure hue that appeared to glow in the dim light of the room. 

His anguish was palpable.

As the images of the projected memory faded, it seemed as though Ianto had slipped into a catatonic state. But then he began speaking, describing the rest of the memory in a dull, listless tone. 

“Owen was undead, and couldn’t be Retconned. But he could see that I was as close as I’d ever been to losing the plot, so for once he wasn’t a twat about helping. Jack told him what I’d d-done,” Ianto paused, squeezing his eyes shut at the thought that was still tearing him up, inside.

Bucky ran his hand through Ianto’s hair and reminded him that he had been defending himself. “It’s like you said about your memory, from school. You get to decide who touches you, and how.” 

After a few moments, Ianto took a deep breath and continued. “Owen infected me with the alien flu, but then he loaded me up on some heavy duty shit, to alleviate all of the symptoms except for the fatigue. Then he gave me a sedative. I slept through most of the next forty-eight hours, but I was pretty ill, when I was awake. When I finally woke from the sedative, Jack gave me a very specific dose of Retcon.

“I was left with the memory of the discussion with Jack about all the reasons why I told Gwen about Flat Holm, and then we worked together to plant the rest. Jack f-forgave me for telling Gwen. Then there was a rift alert, and during a fight with a Calathorian, I got some wicked bruises and a case of Calathorian flu. Then Jack nursed me through it, which was true enough.”

He sniffed. “That makes three times that I’ve killed Jack. Twice that I was completely out of control, when I did it.” He quietly related the incident on the day he left Torchwood. “I don’t know how they cleared me for duty, knowing I’d done that.”

It was unclear whether he was speaking of Torchwood clearing him for duty after the first time, or SHIELD clearing him for duty after the second. Perhaps both. “Gods, I’m… I’m unstable, aren’t I? Not… not safe to be around.” He gave a low, keening cry, pulling further into himself. “You should lock me up, before I hurt someone who’s not immortal.”

“Ianto,” the Doctor sighed, “this isn’t a question of stability. When you hit Jack, it wasn’t because you were experiencing a psychotic break. You had been triggered, and you were terrified. Your response was self-defense, and completely reasonable. And after, you were still off balance because you were overwhelmed by guilt for harming someone you cared about, but also horrified that he had attacked you, in the first place. I’m not sure you’re acknowledging that.”

“Seems to me the guy has a knack for pushing you past your breaking point,” Bucky pointed out. “I don’t think you would have shot him, if you thought it would have done any lasting harm.”

“I agree,” the Doctor nodded. “And what’s more, it’s obvious that Jack saw his role – in this incident, at any rate – and forgave you for your response.” He ran a hand up and down Ianto’s arm. “The question is, can you forgive yourself?”

Ianto went quiet for a moment, and more tears fell. “He was more tender and considerate than I had ever known him to be,” he whispered, and they realized his mind was still fragmented. He was just drifting from one hurtful memory to the next. “He was just afraid I’d try to top myself again, but like an idiot, I let myself believe he cared…” he sniffed.

“Hey,” Bucky brushed his hand through Ianto’s hair again. “Hey, stop that. There’s nothing idiotic about wanting to believe that the one you love returns those feelings.”

“I know,” Ianto whispered. “But with what he said on the Valiant, and what I know now, it just feels kind of ridiculous that I actually thought he…”

“Ianto,” the Doctor’s voice held a quiet authority that called the younger man’s attention, even if he couldn’t move, or even look at him. “Just because things didn’t work out with Jack does not mean he didn’t care about you. I know it’s of little comfort, but you weren’t entirely wrong. Even now, he does care.”

“How could he?” Ianto asked quietly. “How could anyone? I’m _nothing_ ,” he breathed. “Just a useless waste of space.” He closed his eyes and tears streamed.

“Drakon, that is _so_ not true,” Bucky shook his head, his own tears falling into Ianto’s hair. He remembered the flashbacks Ianto had projected in Wakanda. His father and his sister, both telling him that he was nothing. And then Jack echoing those words, on the Valiant. And now, the reclaimed memories somehow reinforcing it all, even if only by how Ianto was interpreting them. Bucky looked pleadingly at the Doctor.

The Doctor nodded, letting Bucky know that he would be able to help, but he still needed a bit more information. “He’s right, Ianto. None of that is true,” the Doctor quietly assured him. “And I will help you to see that. But first, I need to know. Did you only just remember just now, the bit about killing Jack?” At Ianto’s nod, he asked, “How did you break the Retcon?”

“I think it was the chain of memories,” Ianto replied. “It felt like each memory was a link in a chain, and I was pulled along it. What happened after I told Gwen about Flat Holm was just the next link.”

The Doctor nodded. He would save his other question, for later. “All right, all right. I am sorry for bringing all of this up, but it will help, I promise. Let’s get you some water, and I’ll continue.”

“No,” Ianto cried as they helped him to sit up. Bucky dried his tears and pulled out the cannula so he could blow his nose. Once it was back in place, the Doctor helped him to drink a few sips of water. By the time they were done, he was begging incoherently. 

“Please, just…”

“Shhh, Drakon,” Bucky felt ill, because he knew all too well what Ianto was begging for.

For the third time that day, Ianto found himself hauled into Bucky’s lap. The older man held him close and whispered words of comfort as the Doctor situated himself before him, once more. As the Doctor reached out and reconnected with Ianto’s mind, the younger man, completely undone now (and no longer able to refrain), screamed in agony.

Natasha, Clint, and Steve rushed in, only to see Bucky holding onto Ianto as he writhed and whimpered, his pain and anguish pronounced. The Doctor’s face was a mask of focused intention, showing all of his age and alien-ness in sharp relief as he spoke calmly to Ianto.

“Ianto, the Master used your past against you. He did everything in his power to hurt you in the worst ways he could devise. But that was not _you_. Not in this timeline. So I’m going to soften those memories. I won’t take them. They’ve done too much damage for me to be able to take them away, altogether. But I can soften them. It will seem like something that happened in a dream, and it won’t hurt as much as a memory of something that has actually happened to you, in this timeline.”

He fell silent for a few moments, then began speaking again. About Ianto’s past, and that his triggers would soften, with time. In the meantime, he would be able to provide Ianto clarity around some of the verbal abuse, tempering the impact that had all but brainwashed the younger man.

“It’s time for you to gain some perspective. To see your own worth, without the filter of those who would hurt you. To see that the insecurities and actions of others do _not_ reflect your worth.” He reached out so he could hold Ianto’s head in both hands, even as the younger man tried to pull away. The Doctor persevered, knowing that the release of the old programming would be painful, but ultimately Ianto would be the better for it.

Ianto screamed again as programming almost as old as him was pulled from his mind. It was deeply rooted, and the Doctor did not have Ianto’s finesse, in healing such things. Rather, the Doctor had no intention of harming himself in order to make this pretty. None of it was pretty. And it was going to hurt, before it could heal. 

He was able to keep Ianto from seizing again, though it was a near thing, given the pain he was inflicting. Despite his efforts to soothe things as he went, the Master’s damage had left Ianto’s mind too raw, and the need to cut away some of the damaged areas (if they were flesh, they would be called necrotic) was vital, if there was to be any hope of this turning out well.

Much to the Doctor’s surprise and consternation, the three friends piled into the bed, crowding around Bucky and Ianto in order to provide support and comfort. The Doctor would have been cross, had he not seen the immediate calming their care and concern effected.

By the time the Doctor pulled away, Ianto’s voice was as raw and broken as his mind had been. He lay in Bucky’s arms, gasping, drenched in sweat, and whimpering in pain.

Somehow, the three friends slotted themselves together with Bucky and Ianto. Ianto was leaning with his right side against Bucky’s chest, his face buried in the crook of the older man’s neck. Natasha perched on Ianto’s left thigh, her back to Bucky and her face pressed against Ianto’s neck as she leaned against his chest. Clint leaned against Ianto’s left side, his arm around Natasha. And Steve had somehow pressed his chest against Ianto’s back, his forehead resting against the back of the younger man’s head.

In the tangle of limbs, it was difficult to discern whose were whose, but they seemed willing to bear any discomfort as they held their wrecked and weeping friend. The Doctor stood from the bed, which was now groaning under the weight of the five friends. He swayed on his feet, and felt a hand at his elbow, steadying him.

“You all right?” Gin asked, looking concerned.

“I’ll be fine. Just need to rest, for a bit.” He nodded towards the bed. “This was a bit of a purge, for him. He’ll settle and sleep, once he calms.”

Gin nodded. “Should I give him more sedative?”

The Doctor shook his head. “Not yet. And only if his sleep is restless. I would say painkillers would be in order, though.”

“Is he,” Gin looked at the bed, chewing her bottom lip. “Is he in a lot of pain?”

“Yes,” the Doctor answered. He reached out and patted her shoulder awkwardly. “But it’s nothing he can’t weather, and it _will_ pass.” He sighed as she gave him a curious glance. “It is his anguish that has suppressed his healing factor. That will be the slowest to come back online, so his physical healing will likely take some few weeks. But once this grief has worked its way through his system, his anguish will abate. You should see a significant improvement in mood and mindset, within a week or so, barring any complications.”

“Keeping Ianto from complications sometimes seems like trying to keep water from being wet,” Gin replied dryly.

The Doctor gave her a tired smile and eased himself into the armchair by the bed. He could rest quietly here for a moment as the others watched over his charge. He informed Gin that he would now fall into a ‘healing fugue’. 

Gin rolled her eyes.

The alien numpty was taking a nap.

***

[1] From “Words”, by the Bee Gees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still here! I promise I haven't abandoned _any_ of my stories, but I've just been struggling to get them out of my brain.
> 
> Stupid, stupid brain.
> 
> But I love my brain, because it tells me these stories. I just hope it will start cooperating again, soon. So many ideas, particularly in this 'verse.
> 
> There's a throwaway line in this chapter, about the Doctor saving a question for later. I'll give you a hint: the Doctor is wondering whether this is another evolution, that Ianto is now immune to all Retcon and can break all prior doses and remember everything he was ever made to forget. 
> 
> Can you see any complications, if that were to be the case? :D
> 
> More soon (I hope). I also hope that everyone is doing well and staying safe and healthy. Take care!


	59. Chapter 59

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dreams/memories are depicted in _italics_.

As Ianto came back to himself once more, he found that he was spooned between two of his friends. He had wept for a long time, but once he stopped, they had arranged him (and themselves) more comfortably on the bed. Ianto lay on his left side with Bucky’s chest pressed tightly against his back and Natasha’s back curled just as tightly against his chest. Bucky’s flesh arm was trapped between Ianto’s chest and Natasha’s back, his hand pressed flat over Ianto’s heart.

Clint was lying on the other side of Natasha, facing her and holding their friend’s hand as he watched Ianto struggle to cope with the pain inflicted by the healing the Doctor had performed. Steve was sitting tailor style at the end of the bed on Natasha and Clint’s side, holding vigil. The Doctor was dozing in the chair next to the bed.

Ianto was just staring vacantly. He looked exhausted and wrung out and… _bruised_ , somehow. Gin had injected something in his IV that seemed to be helping, but now Ianto was fighting sleep.

“Won’t you try to sleep, Drakon?” Bucky asked, his voice pitched low. He sat up slightly, leaning on his left elbow, and began carding his right hand through Ianto’s hair, knowing that the action tended to soothe the younger man, but not certain if it was helping, now.

“What does it say about me,” Ianto began, his voice rough, “that at one point or another, I killed everyone on my last team?” He paused before adding, “Except for the only one I’ve ever been inclined to give a smack, that is.”

Clint snorted out a chuckle, and Natasha smirked. Even Steve gave a huff of laughter, knowing Ianto didn’t really mean it. As much damage as she had done, and as much as Ianto may have come to dislike Gwen, he would never harm her.

“Except I did shoot Owen, that one time,” he amended, and they could hear fresh tears in his voice.

“Hey. You did the right thing on the Valiant,” Steve said quietly.

“Toshiko was my best friend,” Ianto sobbed, “and I killed her.”

“You didn’t, though,” Natasha murmured. “Not in this timeline.”

“I can still feel her head, in my hands,” he choked, his hand unconsciously gripping Clint’s harder. The memories would eventually soften, but for now they were still too fresh. “I can still feel how the bones in her neck… _crunched_ , as they gave way.” He buried his face in Natasha’s hair, pulling her closer and starting to weep, again. 

“I’m not going to tell you it’s okay,” Bucky whispered to him. “Because it’s not. None of that could ever have been okay. But you did right by her. You saved her from… Drakon, you know what you saved her from.”

Ianto sniffed, and nodded.

“I know that doesn’t make the memory any easier to bear, but you shredded yourself, to spare her pain. You were a better friend to her than she could ever have known.”

“You know, better than most, that there are fates far worse than death, Bratishka,” Natasha said, hating that she couldn’t face Ianto, but knowing she couldn’t pull away from him when he was holding so tightly to her. “You killed her, but you also saved her.”

“I miss her,” he whispered. “I miss _them_.”

“Of course you do. They were your family,” Steve said. “But please remember, you have more family, now. We could never replace them, but you’re not alone, Ianto.”

Clint released Ianto’s hand and leaned up to see over Natasha. He reached over, gently grasping the back of the younger man’s head. “Ianto, we rely on you for so much, but maybe top of that list is, we _know_ you will _always_ take care of us.”

“Always,” both Natasha and Steve agreed.

Ianto sniffed, nodding. He was glad that they knew that. It was his whole purpose. 

“But here’s the thing, man,” Clint continued. “The second from the top of that list is that it never occurs to you to take that same care of yourself.”

And with that one statement, Bucky suddenly felt galvanized with fresh purpose in this strange new life. He could be part of the team, as Steve had been hinting. And he could fight, if it was needed. But his true purpose, his true function within the team would be to handle their Handler. He could be the one to take care of the man who took care of everyone else, often to his own detriment. 

Bucky sucked in a breath, suddenly alive with new ambition, hope for the future, and a certain degree of trepidation, regarding Ianto’s willingness to allow it.

Well…

He’d just have to be sneaky. 

Bucky was good at being sneaky.

He was brought out of his epiphany by Clint’s voice as he added, “You need to try to cut yourself some slack, here.”

“I know,” Ianto rasped. “I’ll try. I just…” he trailed off, at a loss as to how to end that sentence.

“You’re no killer, Ianto,” Clint declared, when it became apparent that Ianto could say no more.

Ianto snorted, and pulled his face out of Natasha’s lovely, lime-scented locks. “Clearly, you haven’t been paying attention,” he snarked. He was fairly certain he had at least as much blood on his hands as anyone in that bed. It was just more alien than human, mostly.

Ianto’s friends could not claim to know all of the things he had done, before becoming their handler. They knew he could make the difficult calls, and that he could be ruthlessly efficient. And on one notable occasion, he had demonstrated a disconcerting knowledge of disposing of bodies and staging a crime scene. He had a cast iron constitution and very little could shake him. What was, for him, beyond the pale was not the fact that he had killed, but that he had killed those he cared about. No matter the reason, it was a tough pill to swallow.

Steve’s eyes strayed to Bucky. Could he, had he known what Hydra would do to his friend, have tried to spare Bucky that fate, that day on the train? He shuddered at the thought. It’s one thing to throw oneself onto a grenade. It’s another thing entirely to throw your best friend onto one, even if it would spare them decades of torture. Seeing Bucky now, on the other side of it all, he was glad it was not a decision he’d been faced with. He was uncertain he would have been equal to it. And he knew why it was tearing Ianto up. 

Ianto was not a soldier. Nor was he a spy, nor an assassin. He was a guardian, a protector. Guardians only killed to defend those in their charge. It was a different prospect than what Steve, Bucky, Natasha, and Clint had faced. And Steve well knew that while they had been trained and to some extent inured to their roles, Ianto had never received that kind of mental preparation for the rigors of the role he had taken on.

Not that anything could prepare someone for having to kill a friend, in order to protect them from something worse. It defied logic and hurt to even think about. And yet, when it counted, Ianto had done it, without hesitation. It showed how strong he was, even as his guilt now showed his loyalty, integrity, and kind-heartedness. It was a unique combination.

In Steve’s experience, kindness got burned out of those who proved strong enough to endure. And yet somehow, Ianto had not lost his kindness, despite the experiences he had survived. Steve speculated that perhaps Ianto’s empathy had kept it intact. Hard to know for sure, but it seemed that keeping it had come at a price. 

But Ianto’s strength lay in his kindness, so perhaps it could really be no other way. Everything that made him a good handler came from how much he cared. Sure, he put up a good front, with the suits and the sarcasm and the professionalism and the scary levels of intelligence and competence, but it was all down to the fact that his job was, essentially, to take care of them. And he did so with an effortless, intuitive grace that supported each Avenger in their role, making the team as a whole stronger.

Perhaps this was the price they all paid, for the unparalleled support they received from Ianto. He was good at his job because he cared so much, but there was a certain… vulnerability that meant they had to take care of him, in turn, because perhaps he cared a bit _too much_.

Steve’s eyes were drawn back to Bucky, who was now murmuring to Ianto in Russian, his voice gentle and soothing. Not for the first time, Steve wondered how many languages Ianto could speak. Besides English, Steve had heard their handler speak Welsh, French, German, Russian, and Japanese. Shuri had been impressed by how much isiXhosa Ianto had managed to learn since first contacting T’Chaka, and he had heard Wanda and Pietro make the same comment about the Ukrainian dialect that they spoke.

He shook his head, impressed. Ianto’s humble admission that he had an aptitude for languages was once accompanied by the observation that mathematics, physics, and even music felt much the same way, in terms of being a means of expression, above all else. It was an interesting insight into how Ianto viewed and interacted with the world around him.

Steve realized his thoughts had been racing along, as they sometimes had a habit of doing, whenever he was tired or stressed. He had managed to wax philosophical about his friend in the surprisingly short interval it took for Clint to respond to Ianto’s weary snark.

“I’ve been paying excellent attention, thank you very much,” Clint said haughtily. “And I know you’ve had to kill. But you’re a defender, not an aggressor. Those two things sit in the soul differently, and it seems to me that you feel things too deeply to take that lightly.”

“We’re all defenders, now,” Ianto said, losing the battle to keep his eyes open. “Don’t tell Fury he mis-named you, though.”

Clint chuckled quietly, relieved that Ianto finally seemed to be calming. They knew from Gin that his numbers were still a bit scary – he was less than twenty-four hours out from a ‘major cardiac event’ after all, and the fact that he was less than calm in the wake of a painful psychic healing was worrying.

Finally, Ianto slept. The others followed the Doctor’s example, staying close to their friend but surrendering to various degrees of somnolence. The room was quiet until, a few hours later, Ianto began projecting more memories.

***

_Ianto was escorted into a strangely shaped room. It was close to the top floor of the Torchwood Tower, and it was a round, almost turret-like. There were no hard edges in the room, which was completely white. A vast sweep of wall opposite to the door was a floor-to-ceiling window showing stunning views of the city. There was furniture – hard, white, smooth, rounded – arranged around the edges of the room, but the middle of the room was open._

_This was Yvonne Hartman’s inner sanctum. It was rumored that this was where she brought those who had, in her estimation, betrayed the empire. Ianto looked around, mildly curious but too tired to be stressed about it. He had just completed his latest round of ‘training’, which had included learning how to break low doses of Retcon. It had been brutal, and he was mentally and emotionally exhausted. He couldn’t even say what day it was, though this unexpected meeting so soon after waking from the latest dose made it feel like a Monday._

_“Ianto Jones,” Hartman practically purred. “Congratulations! I am told that you have far surpassed your fellow operatives, in your training.”_

_“Thank you, ma’am,” Ianto replied politely._

_“I imagine you’re wondering why you’re here,” she said, a shark-like smile on her face. For all her talk of being a ‘people person’, Yvonne was as cold as ice._

_“A final test?” Ianto speculated._

_Hartman laughed heartily, throwing her head back. “They said you were good at making intuitive leaps,” she said, still smiling. “And how have you come to that conclusion?”_

_Ianto shrugged. He walked to the window and looked down on his adopted city. He liked London well enough, just has he had liked Cardiff. But there was a longing he could barely give voice to, for a home as-yet unfound. He hoped to find it with Lisa, but he recognized how dangerous his life had become._

_“Tell me,” she demanded, after he had stayed silent too long._

_Ianto turned to her and gestured to the room around them. “Your sanctum sanctorum. Soundproof. No surveillance. Limited number of potential witnesses. Smooth, easily cleanable surfaces. Pure white, because apparently you appreciate the contrast.” Seemingly out of nowhere, he gave her a severe look. “I’ve no desire to become your executioner, Director Hartman.”_

_Her eyes widened in surprise as a suited operative brought in a middle-aged man in a tan jumpsuit, his wrists bound behind his back by zip-tie cuffs. He had been severely beaten, his broken glasses perched upon his nose in some sort of cruel parody of normality. He was forced to his knees in the middle of the room, and the operative left again._

_Ianto raised an eyebrow at Hartman._

_She ignored him and gestured to the prisoner. “Meet Jonathan Smiley. Until two days ago, he worked in our finance department. He was caught embezzling from the Torchwood coffers.”_

_“White collar,” Ianto shrugged. “Retcon him and throw him in prison.”_

_“He is a traitor to the empire,” Hartman snarled._

_“His betrayal was secondary to his need for money,” Ianto pointed out. “That isn’t treason.”_

_“And yet you yourself call it betrayal,” she countered, pulling a pistol from the shoulder holster concealed beneath the impeccable tailoring of her suit jacket and handing it to Ianto. “And yes, this is your final test. You are to execute him.”_

_Ianto took the gun, then calmly ejected the magazine and racked the slide to empty the chambered round. The bullet bouncing across the floor sounded far too loud to Ianto’s ears as he handed the gun and its magazine back to Hartman._

_“With respect, no.”_

_“You will follow your orders, Mr. Jones,” she said, her voice strident. She slid the magazine back into place and racked the slide._

_“You’ll just have to kill me,” Ianto said. He rather imagined he looked quite brave, but he was merely too exhausted to care. In that moment, he was more afraid of just following orders and losing his soul._

_Especially since it was all a lie. Smiley was not an embezzler._

_He wasn’t even an accountant, for Christ’s sake._

_“Oh, you underestimate the value Torchwood places on what it has invested in you,” she said, her voice hard as she pointed the gun at the man kneeling silently on the floor. Without taking her eyes off of Ianto, she fired, and Smiley fell over, dead. His blood was stark against the white floor._

_Ianto had, by now, seen enough that this did not shock him. Some small part of him registered the fact that this alone was more than enough reason to run far, far away. But Lisa was here. And he had worked so hard, been through so much. If they could just negotiate the terms of his work…_

_In the next moment, Hartman struck, quick as a viper. Ianto felt the needle of the hypospray plunge into his neck as she said, “We’ll just have to find the proper motivation for you, Mr. Jones.”_

_Ianto collapsed to the floor and vaguely listened to the hated voice of Hayes, the scientist in charge of his “training”, who entered the room complaining about Hartman’s unrealistic expectations._

_“He only survived the psi training because of his strength of will, and that is the exact quality that will hinder his development into the kind of operative you are hoping for.”_

_“We’ll just have to find a way,” Hartman replied._

_“Despite the tragedies of his youth, he had someone who instilled a code of morality in him,” the scientist continued. “It’s not in his records, but it makes him more solid and less… pliable than we expected.”_

_“Who could it be?” Hartman frowned, looking from Ianto to the scientist._

_“He has spoken of a grandmother,” the man shrugged, then turned back to Hartman. “I still have reservations about putting him in the field, minus a spleen and with only one functioning kidney. But even if you’re not concerned with his physical health, I believe he would be better in the archives, and administration, where his talents can be developed. Enough time, perhaps he’ll evolve into what you’re looking for, but I don’t see that happening now, not without significant damage to his psyche.”_

_“We shall see.” Hartman looked back at Ianto thoughtfully. “Everyone has their pressure points.”_

***

The voices had awakened the Doctor, who was now sat up in his chair.

“Yvonne Hartman,” he muttered, his voice filled with disdain as the scene faded away.

“He wasn’t afraid of her,” Clint observed. Everything he had heard about the woman made her sound rather terrifying. This glimpse of her did not change that impression, but he admired his friend for taking such a dangerous stand.

“What did she drug him with?” Steve asked.

The Doctor sighed. “Retcon. I think Ianto’s latest evolution is an immunity to it. He’s breaking through all of the doses he has received, over the years.”

Ianto had told them about Retcon. Steve was horrified. “They just… stole his memories?”

The Doctor winced, but then nodded. “Sadly, yes. Keep in mind, the memory he recovered earlier today was taken in an effort to protect him. But I have no illusions that Yvonne had such altruistic intentions. I do know that I saw a handful of hidden memories in there, locked away. I believe they are now being released.”

“What was that bout his spleen and kidney?” Clint asked, frowning.

“Something that happened, when he was a kid,” Steve answered vaguely. He had more questions, but he did not have time to ask them, as another memory came free.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ianto's breaking Retcon!
> 
> Up next is a veritable 'groundhog day' of Yvonne trying to get what she wants, and Ianto being uncooperative.
> 
> Thanks for your patience - there have been words this week, so cross your fingers that the dribble will become a flow, once more.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dreams/memories are depicted in _italics_.
> 
> Telepathic conversations within said dreams/memories are in italics and **bold**.

_Ianto was escorted into a strangely shaped room. He looked around, mildly curious but too tired to be stressed about it. He had just completed his latest round of ‘training’, which had included learning how to break low doses of Retcon. It had been brutal, and he was mentally and emotionally exhausted. He couldn’t even say what day it was._

_Felt like a Wednesday._

_“Ianto Jones,” Hartman practically purred. “Congratulations! I am told that you have far surpassed your fellow operatives in your training.”_

_“Thank you, ma’am,” Ianto replied politely._

_“I imagine you’re wondering why you’re here,” she said, a shark-like smile on her face. For all her talk of being a ‘people person’, Yvonne was as cold as ice._

_“A final test?” Ianto speculated._

_Hartman chuckled. “You’re not wrong.”_

_A suited operative brought in a man in a tan jumpsuit, his wrists bound behind his back by zip-tie cuffs. The prisoner was only a year or two older than Ianto, and had been severely beaten. He was forced to his knees in the middle of the room, and the operative left again._

_Ianto raised an eyebrow at Hartman._

_“Meet Nicholas Colman,” she said, as though they were all about to sit down to tea. “Until last week, he was a field operative, specializing in retrievals. He was caught stealing alien artifacts and selling them on the black market.”_

_Ianto was watching Colman, and he sensed that everything Yvonne had just told him was true. The man was completely without scruple. After a moment, Ianto looked at Hartman, frowning. “It is my understanding that for this sort of offense, protocol calls for Retcon and some sort of prison sentence.”_

_“Unless the Director deems it in Torchwood’s best interest to execute the offender,” she smirked, amused that Ianto knew the protocols._

_Ianto shook his head. “No. I’ll not be Torchwood’s headsman.”_

_“You will follow orders, Mr. Jones,” Hartman’s congenial tone evaporated. She took his hand and placed her pistol in it, checking first to be sure the safety was not engaged._

_“Torchwood has spent an incredible amount of time and money on honing my skills,” Ianto said, trying to be calm and reasonable. “Essentially, you have taught me how to_ not _enter into any situation thoughtlessly. What makes you think, after all of that punishment, that I would just blindly follow orders?”_

 _“With the proper motivation, Mr. Jones, I am certain you could accomplish anything,” Hartman declared, her tone suddenly a bit too smug for comfort. “I’ve told the Queen as much, you know. She is_ very _interested in your development.”_

_Ianto did not look sufficiently impressed, for Hartman’s satisfaction. He offered her pistol back to her, but she turned away, calling out to the same operative who had brought in Colman. Hallowell was an oily, smarmy sycophant who abused his position as one of Hartman’s henchmen and bullied the rest of the staff._

_Ianto hated bullies._

_And now, Hallowell dragged Lisa into the room, his hand clamped roughly around her upper arm and a gun pointed at her. Ianto’s eyes widened and he took in her frightened demeanor, though she was doing an excellent job of putting on a brave face._

_“Ianto?” she asked, looking around the room and groaning. “You daft sod, just do what they say!”_

_Ianto’s breath caught, at the idea that Lisa thought him capable…_

_But then he realized. Lisa knew where she was. Which meant that she had already had – and passed – her ‘final test’. His heart clenched, at the thought. His pale complexion turned to something resembling chalk, but then he frowned, and stood a bit straighter. Lisa’s eyes went a bit wider, recognizing the stubborn set of his features._

_“Mr. Jones, I am ordering you to shoot this man,” Hartman said, her voice hard. “In case it is not clear to you, the time and resources that have been devoted to your… development have been deemed far too substantial to warrant any direct consequences to you.” She gave her shark-like grin again. “Ms. Hallett, on the other hand… Well, she wasn’t quite as costly, understand.”_

_“Ianto, no,” Lisa saw the change in Ianto as she was openly threatened, and wondered how Hartman hadn’t yet realized her tactical error._

_But Yvonne Hartman was oblivious, thinking she had found Ianto Jones’ pressure point. “Shoot him,” she snarled, “or we will be forced to take measures.”_

_Ianto looked at Hartman and smirked. She blinked, uncertain what that expression might mean, but she quickly caught on that perhaps she should have been a bit more specific, in her instruction, because in the next moment, Ianto shot Hallowell._

_Hallowell released Lisa and fell over. Before he could get his bearings, Ianto kicked the gun from his hand and punched him until he lost consciousness. As he straightened, Hartman hit him, and then Hallowell with the hypospray._

_“Damn it!” she screeched as Ianto dropped to the floor. She snatched the gun from his hand and shot Colman several more times than necessary._

_Once more, Hayes entered the room as Lisa looked from one to the other, wide-eyed. He quickly checked Hallowell, whose injuries were not life threatening. He called in two operatives to haul him down to medical to get patched up and fed a cover story._

_“Hayes, what else can we do?”_

_Hayes looked at Hartman, then down at Ianto, who had been incapacitated by the special concoction in the hypospray and was barely hanging on to consciousness. “You can’t keep hitting him with that, you know.”_

_“You said it was a strong sedative, and Retcon,” she replied._

_“Yes, but repeated doses over such a short time period could cause damage,” he pointed out, kneeling beside Ianto and checking his vitals. Ianto managed to smack his hand away when he flashed his penlight in the younger man’s eyes. “Don’t want to go and undo all that you’ve done, now do you? Or make it unusable, in any form.”_

_“Noted,” Hartman huffed. After a moment’s thought, she added, “I want to try again.”_

_Hayes shook his head. “Bad idea.”_

_“I think this will work, though. If it doesn’t, we’ll rethink where he can be assigned.”_

_Hayes heaved a sigh. “Let’s hear it, then.”_

_Hartman looked at Lisa. “If I make you his handler, do you think you can control him?”_

_“I can try,” Lisa looked like a deer caught in a spotlight. All she could think to add was, “But… He’s Welsh.”_

_“Damn it,” Hartman grumbled._

_***_

Once again, the projected memory faded as memory-Ianto lost consciousness. 

“She really thought threatening his girlfriend was going to get him in line?” Steve shook his head as Clint let out a dark chuckle.

“That was a good shot,” Natasha observed.

“Keep in mind how well Ianto has allowed you to know him,” the Doctor made an observation of his own. “For all her resources, Yvonne was only able to know as much as Ianto permitted. It likely took that incident for her to realize the depths of his loyalty.”

“Seems like she should have been familiar with his stubbornness, though,” Clint chuckled again.

Another memory prevented further observations.

***

_Ianto was escorted into a strangely shaped room. He looked around, mildly curious but too tired to be stressed about it. He had just completed his latest round of ‘training’, which had included learning how to break low doses of Retcon. It had been brutal, and he was mentally and emotionally exhausted. He couldn’t even say what day it was, but he had a feeling he had far more blanks than the training schedule could explain._

_“Ianto Jones,” Hartman forced a smile. “Congratulations! I am told that you have far surpassed your fellow operatives in your training.”_

_“Thank you, ma’am,” Ianto replied politely._

_“I imagine you’re wondering why you’re here,” she said, a shark-like smile on her face. For all her talk of being a ‘people person’, Yvonne was as cold as ice._

_“A final test?” Ianto speculated._

_Hartman was not amused. “Yes. I would like to put you in the field. And we have decided that Ms. Hallett should be your handler. But we must first vet your suitability.”_

_She snapped her fingers, and Lisa walked into the room, looking cool and composed, but Ianto could feel an undercurrent of wariness that made him uneasy. It didn’t take him long to realize that this was how Hartman intended to control him._

_“Ianto,” Lisa gave a smile that was almost natural._

_Almost._

_“Lisa,” he returned her smile._

_In the next moment, a suited operative brought in a humanoid woman in a tan jumpsuit, her wrists bound by zip-tie cuffs behind her back. Her eyes were just a bit too large, with no sclera, but rather wide, dark irises and cat-like pupils. Her skin tone was slightly blue._

_Ianto tried not to flinch at the fear rolling off of the alien._

_“This is Talia,” Hartman said. “Seems to have crashed here. Claims to have been alone, and can’t remember where she crashed. Despite our best efforts, she has given us next to no intel. So,” she pulled out her pistol and put it in Ianto’s hand, “it is time for us to part ways.”_

_Ianto looked from Talia to Lisa to Hartman. He held the gun back out to Hartman._

_“No.”_

“Ianto,” Lisa stepped forward, but a look from him stopped her in her tracks.

 _“Torchwood has spent an incredible amount of time and money on honing my skills,” Ianto said, turning to Hartman. “Essentially, you have taught me how to_ not _enter into any situation thoughtlessly. What makes you think, after all of that punishment, that I would just blindly follow orders?”_

_“Torchwood operatives are expected to follow orders unquestioningly,” Hartman snarled. “You will do this, or face the consequences.”_

_“More Retcon?” Ianto asked. When her eyes widened, he nodded. “Thought so. But what you are not taking into consideration, Director, is that if I had just blindly followed orders without hesitation, then she would be dead now, despite the fact that I can probably determine where her ship is.”_

_Hartman had been winding up, at the end of her tether with the stubborn Welshman. Hell, she was probably ready to kill him, investment be damned. But Ianto’s statement knocked her back. “What do you mean?”_

_“I mean, I’m getting images from her. I might be able to get the location of the ship.”_

_“Well, then,” Hartman gestured for him to proceed._

_Ianto looked at the gun still in his hand, then engaged the safety and tucked it into his belt at the small of his back. He knelt down in front of the alien, his hands making a placating gesture. He reached out and touched the side of her face._

_Ianto would never know how it worked. His theory was that because these were thoughts rather than words, that thoughts must somehow be universal. So by the time the thoughts were filtered down to words, he heard them in his language, and she heard them in hers._

**_My name is Ianto_ ** _, he managed to convey, and she jolted slightly when she heard his voice in her mind._

**_Talia_ ** _, she replied, sounding sick and broken._

**_I’m sorry for what’s been done to you_ ** _, he added. **I would help if I could, but we’re all trapped here, in one way or another.**_

**_Please, do not endanger yourself_ ** _, Talia said, looking frightened. **I am dying, anyway.**_

**_I am so sorry_ ** _, Ianto looked incredibly sad. **Not all humans are like this, but I don’t suppose that makes a difference to you, as this is your only experience of us.**_

**_Oh, I am not dying because of the attempts to make me speak. Our reactor core was breached as we entered your solar system. I was exposed to lethal levels of radiation when I ejected the core into your sun. Then we crashed._ **

**_We?_ **

**_There were four of us. Lania died in the crash. Tyx and Evna are hiding. I was chosen to scout, because we knew there was nothing to be done for the radiation poisoning, so it made sense for me to be the one to risk being caught._ **

**_How were you caught?_ **

**_Your sensors picked us up as we entered the atmosphere, but not the specific crash site. I was within their search radius._ **

**_Did they hurt you?_ ** _Ianto asked. She seemed rather composed for someone who had been subjected to Torchwood’s hospitality._

**_My physiology is not sensitive to the pain that they have attempted to inflict,_ ** _she replied **. Though the beatings do hurt.**_

**_I’m sorry._ **

_“What is she saying?” Hartman asked._

_“She has a complicated ritual, for introductions,” Ianto lied smoothly. “She has given me her genealogy, going back several generations. I am attempting to do the same.”_

_“Well, hurry up!”_

_“Ma’am,” Ianto barely refrained from rolling his eyes._

**_You have lied to your superior_ ** _, Talia said, her eyes wide._

**_I don’t like bullies_ ** _, Ianto replied. **Are your friends still at the crash site?**_

**_No. We destroyed all of the tech and set up a cloak, and then moved to another location._ **

_Ianto nodded. **I might be able to get your friends to safety, but can you give me the location of your ship, to throw this one off their scent?** _

**_I tried to explain that it will do you no good. We have destroyed everything that the crash did not._ **

**_Doesn’t matter,_ ** _Ianto shrugged. **Besides, we can’t just leave it wherever, for someone to stumble upon accidentally. We must at least dispose of the wreckage.**_

_She sighed and nodded. **I suppose you are right.** _

_She showed him a mental image of the location of the ship, and he heaved a sigh of relief that he recognized the place._

**_And your friends?_ ** _he asked._

**_You can get them to safety?_ **

**_I’ll do my best_ ** _, he promised._

_She gave him another image, and a message for her friends, and he nodded. He knew that place, as well. Better still, her image had included a street address._

**_And now, you must do something for me,_ ** _she looked at him wearily._

**_What can I do?_ **

**_You must kill me,_ ** _she said. **The radiation poisoning has been slow and painful, as will be the attentions of your colleagues, when we are done, here.**_

**_Talia…_ **

**_Please_ ** _, she pleaded. **Release me from this torment.**_

**_I can’t_ ** _, he shook his head, trying not to let the others in the room see his horror._

**_You must. Show me that humans can be just and merciful, as well as cruel and malicious._ **

**_That isn’t fair_ ** _, Ianto frowned._

**_Perhaps not_ ** _, she smiled, **but as you already pointed out, it is the limit of my experience.**_

_Ianto gave her a glare and while her face remained blank, he heard her laughing softly in his head. With a huff, he stood._

_“She showed me the location of the crash,” he said, giving the address where the cloaked remains of the ship could be found._

_“Are there others?”_

_“There was one other, who died in the crash,” Ianto said._

_Hartman looked at one of the operatives, who left the room to scramble a team._

_“And why didn’t she give us this information?”_

_“Apparently, you didn’t ask nicely,” Ianto said, keeping his tone neutral._

_Hartman glared. “You have your orders, Jones.”_

_Lisa approached him and put her hand on his forearm. “Ianto, you need to complete your mission.”_

_Ianto turned back to Hartman. “Director, can you admit that had I brainlessly followed orders, we wouldn’t have this intel?”_

_Hartman inclined her head, showing she was at least willing to hear Ianto out, even if she would not admit she was wrong._

_“I am willing to take any assignment you give me,” Ianto forged ahead, “if I am allowed to think independently when my orders do not take all of the facts into consideration.”_

_“We will discuss it, assuming you follow your orders now,” she said haughtily._

_Lisa’s hand was still on his forearm. He pulled out the gun and stared at it, stalling. He telepathically whispered that Talia was dying and begging him to shoot her. Then he relayed the address where the others were hiding and Talia’s message to them, in case Hartman Retconned him, again. Her eyes widened slightly, but she whispered back that she would remember it._

_Ianto pulled away from her and knelt before Talia, asking Lisa to untie the prisoner. Once her hands were free, he reached out and took one of them, establishing a connection again._

**_I am sorry._ **

**_You are showing me the greatest mercy_ ** _, she replied._

**_Tell me the thing you love best about your planet_ ** _, he said._

_Her eyes shone with a happy memory. **When the sun sets over the far side of the mountains, the lake turns an impossible shade of…**_

_Her thought cut off as Ianto pulled the trigger._

_In the next moment, Ianto dropped the gun and crashed to the floor, holding his head and screaming._

_“What the hell just happened?” Hartman screeched._

_Hayes ran in, running a scanner over Ianto’s writhing body. He sat back. “Some sort of psychic shock,” he said. As he studied the readings, he quickly began looking Ianto over. “I think he felt her die,” he said, his voice filled with astonishment._

_“So?” Hartman wanted to kick Jones._

_“So, that is not something anyone wants to experience outside their own circumstances, and not even then. The shock is sending him into neural collapse.”_

_“Well do something!” she shouted._

_“Okay, but you’re not going to like it,” Hayes pulled out a hypospray and injected it in Ianto’s neck. Almost immediately, he calmed._

_“Director Hartman, I am hereby declaring Torchwood Operative Ianto Jones unfit for field duty,” he said._

_“Damn it!” she shouted, giving in to her temper and kicking Ianto in the gut._

_“Ma’am, please!” Lisa protested, kneeling beside Ianto to prevent Hartman from committing any further assault._

_“Feel better?” Hayes asked sarcastically. “Once he recovers from this and his talents begin to settle, we can perhaps revisit my assessment. But for now, we have pushed him as far as he can be pushed, without unravelling all of the work we’ve done, until now.”_

_“Oh, all right,” Hartman muttered._

***

They all looked at one another. Because it was Ianto’s memory, they had been able to hear his conversation with Talia, though it had not been spoken aloud.

“He _felt_ her death?” Steve shook his head.

“He was connected to her when she died,” the Doctor shook his head sadly. “I would normally not condone his behavior, but given what I know about the type of radiation sickness she was suffering from, and what Torchwood would have done to her, I can’t say he made the wrong call.”

“And paid for it,” Bucky observed. He looked down at the drakon in his arms and stroked a hand through his hair, again.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, nothing but love and respect for the Welsh, but they are kind of known to be a stubborn lot.
> 
> Only a few more hidden memories to go.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	61. Chapter 61

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dreams/memories are depicted in _italics_.
> 
> Telepathic conversations within said dreams/memories are in italics and **_bold italics_**.
> 
> The forced memories are **bold**.
> 
> Sorry it's so complicated, wanted to distinguish.

_Ianto woke in a room those going through the psi ops program had labelled the vomitorium. It was where they woke and recovered from each attempt to break the dose of Retcon they had received. The process made most of them ill._

_Until now, it had only made Ianto a bit queasy, but he was forced to fit the room to its purpose as he lurched to his side and retched into the bucket beside the bed. He continued to vomit for long minutes, well past his stomach being empty._

_“Torchwood Operative, please provide your name and identification number,” Hayes’ disembodied voice floated through the room._

_“Fuck off,” Ianto growled, trying to catch his breath and get his body to stop heaving._

_“Torchwood Operative, please provide your name and identification number,” Hayes repeated, unperturbed. As though this initial response was normal, at least for Ianto._

_Ianto flopped onto his back, gasping for breath. He swallowed and threw his arm over his eyes, which were watering from the bright lights shining down on him. After Hayes’ third request, he drew in a deep breath, seeming calmer._

_“Torchwood Operative Ianto Jones, 51742147,” he rasped, willing his stomach to settle. His breathing was still labored, and he felt both hot and cold, all at once. “I haven’t had this reaction, before. Did something go wrong?”_

_In the next moment, Lisa entered the room carrying a round metal basin. Ianto could hear ice clinking against the side as she turned down the lights and moved into the room. “Hey, handsome,” she smiled as she sat on the bed beside him._

_Ianto blinked as she took his hand. “Lisa?” **Gods, I screwed up my final test, didn’t I?**_

_Lisa smiled sweetly and put a hand to his forehead. “You were pretty sick. Do you feel any better, now?” **If by screwed up, you mean you refused to execute at least one innocent person and then one not-so-innocent one, then yes. Then you killed an alien who was dying anyway and begged you to kill her, so Yvonne is appeased.** _

_Ianto’s eyes widened, but he didn’t show any further sign of their silent conversation. His vitals were all over the place, so his reaction should not have raised any alarms._

_“Let’s get you cooled off,” she smiled, wringing out the cold flannel that had been sitting in the ice water and mopping his face._

_“You’re going about that the wrong way,” he grinned. At her arched eyebrow, he said, “You forget how much I like that blouse.”_

_She gave a low, sultry chuckle. “How could I? I’ve had to replace the buttons twice, now.” She dipped the flannel in the water again and held it against the inside of his elbow before smoothing it down to his hand. “And it only escaped a third time because I reinforced the stitching and you used your teeth, instead.”_

_They shared a smile as she repeated the action with his other arm and hand, and Hayes’ voice floated through the room, again. “Level One stabilization achieved.” Meaning they were no longer concerned he’d stroke out, if Ianto recalled correctly._

_She smiled and leaned down to kiss him, but he turned his head. “Need a toothbrush if you’re going to get fresh, missus.” **How many times have they Retconned me?**_

_“Cheeky,” she laughed. **Not sure, but it’s been a week since I woke up and had my final test.** She looked away, her expression darkening._

_“Lis,” he whispered, pulling her down to lie beside him. He pulled her close and buried his face in her neck. **Not your fault.**_

**_You refused. I should have, too._ ** _She sniffed._

**_You didn’t know you could._ **

**_Actually, I doubt I could have_ ** _, she sighed. **Apparently, you only got away with it because you’re leaps and bounds ahead of any of the other survivors.**_

_Ianto scoffed._

**_It’s true. I overheard Hayes talking to her about our results._ **

_Ianto closed his eyes and breathed for a few minutes, trying to calm himself. He felt something shift and settle, and then turned onto his back, trying for more air._

_“Level Two stabilization achieved,” Hayes intoned._

_“Ianto?”_

_“’m sleepy,” he murmured. **Why do I feel like this?**_

_Lisa sat up and pressed the backs of her fingers to his forehead. The blazing heat was gone, at least. “Seems like your body temperature is a bit closer to normal, now.” **They Retconned you at least once before they brought me in** , she refrained from telling him that she had been brought in as leverage, that first time. **Then twice more, that I witnessed. Hayes actually stood up to Yvonne. Told her that she had to stop testing and then Retconning you.** She hesitated. **But that’s not why you’re feeling so ill.**_

_Ianto opened his eyes and reached up to take her hand. **What happened?**_

**_You refused Yvonne’s order to execute the alien. You talked to her, instead. She gave you the location of the crash so you could make peace with Yvonne. She also told you where to find the other survivors. You told me that much, in case you got Retconned, again._ **

_“Still feel like hell,” he rasped. **And I killed her?** Ianto looked distressed. _

_“It’ll pass,” she reassured, finding the flannel with her free hand and dabbing at his forehead with it. “Not too cold, is it?”_

**_She was ill, Ianto. Radiation poisoning. She was suffering. Knew she’d die an ugly death. She begged you to help her, and you did._ **

_“’s nice. Soothing.” Ianto closed his eyes again. **So what happened?**_

**_You were connected to her, when…_ ** _she trailed off. **Hayes says you felt her die. You were in danger of neural collapse, so he Retconned you, to save you.**_

**_To save their investment, you mean._ **

_Lisa chuckled. **Only you could master the fine art of telepathic sarcasm, Jones.**_

_“Level Three stabilization achieved. Subject stable.”_

_“What happened? I don’t usually get this sick,” he knew Hayes would be joining them, soon._

_“Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Jones,” Hayes said as he entered the room. “We were trying to push you beyond the thirty hour record you set, but you had a bit of a reaction to that last dose of Retcon.”_

**_Careful, I see you trying not to roll your eyes_ ** _, Lisa was trying her best not to smirk._

**_The struggle is real_ ** _, Ianto replied, sitting up. “How long was I out?”_

_“What is the last date you remember?” Hayes countered._

_Ianto frowned. “The sixth, I think.”_

_“It’s the thirteenth, now._

_Ianto’s eyes widened, but mostly for effect. They would have to Retcon a minimum of two days, now, to be sure he didn’t accidentally break it. So if he had been Retconned three times or more, the minimum he would have been out was six days. Seven if they kept him under to avoid neurological damage, the last time. He was relieved that it was only the three times that Lisa was aware of._

_Hayes looked at his data pad, unconcerned as ever at his test subject’s reactions. “Your system has stabilized. Another hour or so of observation, and you can go. Take the rest of the day, and tomorrow. When you return, report to Human Resources for your assignment.”_

_Ianto looked at Lisa. “Does that mean you’ve gotten your assignment?”_

_She nodded, smiling. “Acquisitions.”_

_“Congratulations,” he smiled, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I know that’s the one you were hoping for.”_

_Hayes left them, and Ianto rested. He felt better within the hour, and was released. Once he changed, he took Lisa’s hand and announced as they left, “I feel like going to the gym and jumping in the sauna.”_

_Lisa smiled for the benefit of anyone who might be listening. “That sounds good. Loosen you up for the massage I plan to give you, when we get back to yours.”_

_They made their way to their gym, relieved to find that they were most likely not being followed. Nevertheless, they both changed and left their phones and wallets in their lockers, then met in the alleyway behind the building._

_“Cash?” Ianto asked._

_“I’ve got forty quid,” Lisa said._

_“I’ve got sixty. That’s not enough.”_

_They found a newsagent and bought a cheap burner phone, along with sunglasses and a watchcap. Thus disguised, with the addition of pulling the hood of his sweatshirt down so the lower half of his face was also obscured, Ianto then went on to rob the nearest cashpoint._

_“Okay, that should not be that sexy,” Lisa smirked when he returned with a fistful of cash._

_Ianto grinned, and they made their way to the location of Talia’s shipmates. It was an old warehouse by the docks, abandoned and practically falling down. Even the squatters stayed away from it._

_They found the aliens easily enough, coaxing them from hiding with the mention of Talia’s name. After some questioning, they determined that the aliens needed food and blankets, if they were to stay where they were any longer._

_While Lisa went to buy the needed items, Ianto was able to tell them that Talia was gone, and give them her farewell message. He also told them that he would be sending someone who could keep them safe._

_Once they left, they found a CCTV blind spot near the Thames._

_“You know the number?” she asked._

_“Saw it in a file, one time,” Ianto answered as he placed the call._

_“Harkness,” the phone picked up after several rings._

_“Captain Harkness, I’m calling you from Torchwood One,” Ianto said, looking at Lisa, who nodded encouragingly. “Actually, not from One. They’d likely kill me, if they knew I was doing this.”_

_“I’m listening,” Jack said, his voice cautious._

_“An alien ship crashed in London, about a week ago. There were three survivors, but one had radiation poisoning. She went out scouting and was captured. One obtained the location of the crash site from her, but she told them that she was the only survivor.”_

_“And why are you telling me this?” Jack cut in._

_“Because I am going to give you the location of other two survivors,” Ianto said._

_“Why?” Jack sounded baffled._

_“Because One will torture and kill them, for no good reason. You won’t.”_

_“How…”_

_“Look, I need to ditch this phone. Are you going to help, or not?”_

_“What’s the location?” Jack asked, after a pause._

_Ianto gave him the information, then hesitated. “Hartman has a tracker on your SUV. You can disable it some other time, but do us a favor and drive something anonymous, yeah?”_

_There was silence at the other end, but then Jack replied in a tight voice. “Got it. Will you be there?”_

_“Captain, with any luck, we will never meet,” Ianto hung up, pulled the phone apart, destroyed the chip, and threw it all into the dirty water of the Thames._

_“That’s littering,” Lisa pointed out as they walked away._

_“Call a cop,” Ianto replied, smirking at her surprised laugh as he wrapped an arm around her._

***

Bucky was surprised when Ianto started weeping, again.

“That last memory wasn’t hidden,” the Doctor remarked.

“He misses her,” Natasha said quietly, brushing a hand through Ianto’s hair. “He probably chased after that one, once he remembered the others.”

The Doctor stepped forward, placing his hand on Ianto’s head and closing his eyes as he concentrated. “Hmm. Only one more hidden memory. It’s… Oh.” Then he stepped back, looking up. “It’s here.”

They all watched in horror as the final memory unfolded.

***

_In the Torchwood Hub’s conference room, Ianto, Tosh, and Owen were looking over an artifact._

_“So, according to the molecular breakdown, this potentially alien complex artifact is, in fact, made out of wood,” Toshiko said, tossing the paper showing the analysis onto the table._

_After a moment or two of brainstorming and a difference in remembering who had found the artifact, Ianto offered to check his diary. “I like to log the interesting stuff.”_

_“You write about artifacts in your diary?” Tosh asked, smiling._

_“Among other things,” Ianto gave her a wink and left the room._

_A bit later, he could be seen on the sofa in the hub, flipping back and forth through his diary, looking perturbed._

_“What’s wrong?” out of nowhere, Adam appeared._

_Ianto jumped, startled. “My diary. You’re not in it. Everyone else is. Why would I leave you out, when you’ve been here so long?” He hesitated, looking at Adam. “Like I’m remembering a man who doesn’t exist.”_

_Adam flickered, and Ianto backed up another step._

_“What are you?”_

_In a flash, Adam was on Ianto. “Cross me,” he seethed, “and I will fill you full of fake memories until your head is on fire. Because that’s how I exist.”_

***

“Oh, no,” the Doctor all but pushed Natasha aside as he climbed onto the bed and took Ianto’s head in his hands.

***

_“Jack has to know,” Ianto said, pushing Adam away and trying to step around him._

_The alien clapped a hand to Ianto’s head. “Remember this,” Adam sneered._

_Ianto’s eyes rolled up and he began convulsing._

***

Off to the side of the room, another set of memories bloomed. **Ianto throwing a woman to the ground, following as he wrapped his hands around her neck.**

***

_“I know you didn’t mean to kill her,” Adam crooned. “You just couldn’t stop yourself.” Adam clamped his hand onto Ianto’s head again. As Ianto screamed, Adam called out, “Remember this.”_

_***_

**Ianto punched another woman, following her to the ground and strangling her.**

***

_Ianto screamed and collapsed to the floor. “I didn’t do that!”_

_“Oh, yes you did,” Adam smiled. “And she wasn’t the first.”_

***

**Ianto stalked a third woman, following her with a predatory gleam in his eyes. His hands flexed in anticipation of feeling her tender neck as he squeezed…**

***

_Adam mocked Ianto’s loyalty as he continued to force the memories into his head._

_Remember it._

_Remember it._

_Remember it._

_Remember it._

_Remember it._

_When Ianto finally stopped screaming, Adam knelt down and kissed him, then pulled him close in a further violation. “You know, I forgot what a rush it is, feeding in the bad stuff.” With that, he left Ianto screaming on the floor, coming unraveled at the realization that he was a cold-blooded killer._

***

“Ianto! Ianto!” the Doctor called. Ianto opened his eyes, looking dazed and despairing. “Let me in. I can show you that those memories are false.”

Ianto closed his eyes, and as the Doctor entered his mind yet again, he helped Ianto section off the strangulations, and the perverse pleasure they aroused, in a corner of Ianto’s mind. They did the same with all of the false memories the creature Adam had created.

“Very good,” the Doctor praised, impressed once more at the younger man’s strength and intuitive ability to quickly learn to do this sort of thing. “Here, let me…” he cut away the emotional attachments, so the memories would simply be there, without triggering any sort of response. Ianto would know they were there, and what the creature had done, but they would no longer pose any sort of threat to his wellbeing.

***

_“You have to lock me away,” Ianto said, teetering between calm and desperate. “Before I turn on you. None of you are safe!”_

***

It was lost on no one that _this_ was Ianto’s primary concern.

***

_“What’s happened to you?” Jack asked, shocked and confused that Ianto had confessed to three murders._

_He pulled Ianto close, and Ianto closed his eyes as he whispered, “I’m a monster.”_

_Jack set up an alien lie detector and Ianto’s features flashed wildly between the sick pleasure of the planted memories and genuine horror regarding his actions and responses. In the end, it was Jack’s unwillingness to believe Ianto capable of such a thing that kept them looking for an explanation. It was easily found, as Adam had not erased the record of his assault._

_When Jack took Adam to the vaults, the others watched remotely._

_“Don’t kill me. I had to become part of your memories in order to survive.” Adam talked about how Jack remembered himself, now. How Owen was less cynical, Toshiko more confident. Funnily enough, he seemed to have forgotten the damage he had done – inadvertently, to Gwen and deliberately, to Ianto._

_Jack returned to the others and gave them Retcon. “If I’m wrong, he’ll still be here when we’ve done this.”_

***

The Doctor backed away from the bed, looking tired. “I think he’ll sleep, now. There are no other hidden memories. He’s broken all of the Retcon he was given.”

“Is that… good, or bad?” Steve asked, distracted when Ianto turned and buried his face in Bucky’s chest.

The two men were just about wrapped around one another, their legs tangled. Ianto’s arms had snaked around Bucky’s midsection, and Bucky was holding him just as tightly, whispering words of comfort as Ianto finally relaxed into sleep.

Clint elbowed him as Natasha’s expression turned uncharacteristically soft.

The Doctor, completely oblivious (or perhaps simply more well informed by the timelines), began pacing. “We’ll have to see. We did not see any of the memories in their entirety, though Ianto would have experienced them, so.”

“You mean there’s more than what we saw?” Clint asked, dismayed at the thought of there being more than what they had seen on the Valiant.

The Doctor stopped his pacing. “Ah. Well, no. That is, I…” he hesitated. “Honestly, I have no idea how it works. I _believe_ that you saw everything that happened on the Valiant, if that is your concern. But with the Retconned memories,” he sighed. “I think we saw the highlights. For example, we know that Jack Retconned forty-eight hours, but we didn’t _see_ forty-eight hours, even though Ianto has recovered all of it.”

“So there might be some details that Ianto has remembered, but we didn’t see,” Natasha nodded. “That makes sense.”

Gin came in, looking at her StarkPad with a frown.

“What is it?” Steve asked, concerned.

“His numbers are terrible,” she said. “All of these memories are causing even more stress. I can’t give him any more of the sedative, and I’m worried he’ll have another event.”

“Actually, his numbers are a bit better, now,” the Doctor pointed out, gesturing to the screen as he pulled out his sonic screwdriver and scanned Ianto. “I think this was like a splinter that had to be removed, in order for him to heal.”

Gin looked at the monitors, then at Ianto, whose sleep was now deep, his breathing steady. “You’re right,” she sighed in relief. “He seems to be stabilizing.”

***

Ianto slept for three days, a deep and healing sleep that did not completely mend his damage, but made a good start. Bucky stayed with him most of the time, his body not opposed to the additional rest as his own recovery progressed.

Someone stayed with Ianto, at all times. To everyone’s consternation, his numbers fluctuated whenever Bucky left. He would ease out of the bed to shower and eat, but even though Steve or Thor or Natasha and Clint took his place, Ianto’s numbers were always better when Bucky was with him.

Steve had been self-conscious, at first. He wasn’t sure what he would do, if Ianto wrapped himself around Steve the way he did, with Bucky. But that was the other oddity. Ianto only did his octopus impression when Bucky joined him.

Apparently, Bucky was the only one who had not noticed this, and so the team was fairly certain that the only ones who did not yet realize which way the proverbial wind was blowing were Bucky and Ianto, themselves.

***

When Ianto woke, it was from the first dream his mind had created in seventy-two hours. He had not projected it, so none of the others were aware he was dreaming until he sat up in the bed, calling out, “Toshiko!”

Gin brought out the oxygen mask, pulling off the cannula and allowing Ianto to draw deep breaths as he calmed.

“How are you feeling?” the Doctor asked. He had just returned from visiting Tony and Bruce on one of the R&D floors. Actually, he had just been chased away, after blowing up one project and disintegrating another. One had been an accident. The other…

Well, it was a bit soon for that invention, wasn’t it?

Ianto took a few moments to get his bearings, still sucking in oxygen. When he calmed down, he said, “We need to go to Cardiff. Now.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! It's finally time for Ianto to get out of that bed! 
> 
> Hope everyone is doing well as we head into the holidays.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me - let me hear from you! :)


	62. Chapter 62

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Clint held up his hands in a ‘wait a minute’ kind of gesture. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“You don’t understand,” Ianto said, sitting up and beginning to pull at the tape holding his IV line in place.

“Ianto, stop,” Gin pulled his hand away.

“Doctor,” Ianto looked to the Time Lord, who was staring at him, confused. “It’s a creature from the void. It came through the rift. It can only survive if it lives in someone’s memories.”

“And you banished it when you Retconned yourselves,” the Doctor nodded. 

Ianto pushed Gin’s hands away from his arm and started tearing the tape away from his skin again. “And now, I’ve remembered him, again.”

The Doctor startled. “You think he has returned?”

Ianto paused, looking at the Doctor. “You think he hasn’t?”

“How about we call?” Natasha suggested.

“I have a better idea,” Ianto said. “Can someone bring me my laptop?”

Within minutes, Ianto was logged onto Mainframe and verified Adam Smith’s employment file had been created, three days before.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Ianto muttered.

The Doctor frowned. “I haven’t encountered such a creature, but clearly, it’s dangerous.”

“He raped Toshiko,” Ianto whispered. 

“What we saw of what he did to you would certainly qualify as rape, as well,” the Doctor replied. “Arguably, to some degree he violated all of you,” he was cut off by one of Natasha’s extremely bony elbows digging into his ribs. He stopped talking and gave her a sheepish look.

Ianto set down his laptop, his hands shaking as he muttered, almost to himself, “Made her think they were together. She was so hurt, when Jack took him to the vaults…” All of a sudden, Ianto’s face contorted with rage and he tore out the IV line and stood. “Do what you want. This is my fault, for remembering. I’m going.”

He stalked to the bathroom (though it was a rather shaky stalk), where he shut the door on them all and showered. By the time he shuffled through his bedroom to his closet, the others had dispersed. He put on one of his oldest suits – also one of the smallest. 

He had put on some muscle mass since joining SHIELD, and his old suits had started to pull across the shoulders. But now, he had lost quite a bit of weight in the last five weeks, since healing Bucky in Wakanda. Even his ‘skinny suit’ was a bit too big for him. He huffed, not really giving much thought to how he might look (dreadful) as he picked an indigo shirt and knotted his tie with shaking hands. 

Cufflinks, waistcoat, shoes, and he was pulling on the suit jacket as he slowly made his way down the hall to his living room. He stopped short (and did his best not to sway on his feet) when he saw everyone who had previously been in his bedroom now piled into his living room, suited up and ready for a fight.

“So what’s the play, Handler?” Clint asked, game face on and voice all business. “The Doctor says he can take us to Cardiff, but you should sit down and walk us through it.”

“Friday, can you please ask Vision to join us?” Ianto asked, giving them a small smile. 

After a moment’s pause, Friday replied, “He’s on his way.”

After another moment, Vision phased through the door. “How are you feeling?” he asked Ianto.

“Better,” Ianto replied, though that told them nothing. Better than death’s door could cover a lot of ground.

“C’mon. You can eat something, while you brief the team,” Natasha said, taking him by the hand and leading him to an open space on the sofa as Gin brought him a smoothie.

“Don’t suppose you’re going to let me go make a cup of coffee,” Ianto smiled at her.

“Not a chance,” she grinned. “No caffeine until your numbers are better than what I saw when you woke.” She shook her head. “I know we can’t talk you out of this, so please at least get this in you. You’ll like the flavor, I promise.”

Ianto took a sip and was very surprised at how nice it tasted. It was cold but not too frozen, so he wasn’t worried about it giving him a headache. He tasted a lot of chocolate, and lots of nuts and berries. He was certain he didn’t want to know about the spinach and kale and whatever else was in it, but as long as he couldn’t taste it, he was good.

“So,” Steve said. “Memory monster.”

Ianto related to them the events of the lost days that the team had Retconned away. What Adam had done to each of the others. All but Jack. Jack hadn’t shared what Adam had done to him, there hadn’t been time. Ianto chose not to dwell on the fact that Jack wouldn’t have confided anything, even if there had been time.

He was reminded that it was ancient history when Bucky shifted beside him. He was in his gear, as well. Ianto found that comforting in a way that was entirely unfamiliar to him.

“So what’s the play?” Natasha asked.

Ianto looked at the Doctor, his face set in a frown. “Adam attacks without hesitation or remorse. Unless there is some place you can take him, banish him, somehow…”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “There’s a place called Mnemosyne. Its inhabitants thrive on memory, but are immune to attacks such as we’ve seen from this creature.” He hesitated. “But he would have to choose to go, willingly.”

“Which he is unlikely to do,” Ianto pointed out. “He’s already admitted to how much he enjoyed feeding…” Ianto closed his eyes and gave a small head shake, “…bad memories.” He wiped a shaking hand over his face, trying to contain his anger and vulnerability. In the next moment, he felt the side of Bucky’s boot press against the side of his shoe. It served to comfort and ground him, more than he could have articulated, in that moment.

“You are immune to Retcon,” the Doctor said carefully. “How do you propose to contain him, if he refuses to go?”

“Contain?” Ianto looked sharply at the Time Lord. The room went strangely silent.

“I see,” the Doctor frowned.

“I know you forgive. I know you offer second chances. But isn’t this his second chance? What if he’s done the same thing again? To Jack? To Martha? To _Donna_?”

The Doctor flinched, and he let out a breath. “We need to at least make the offer.”

“And if he refuses?”

“Then do what you must,” the Doctor snapped.

Ianto put down his half-finished smoothie and stood, facing down the Doctor, shaking with guilt and rage so raw he could scarcely speak. “I know this is my fault, and I know you don’t approve of my solution, even if it proves to be the only one. But my _only_ concern here is protecting those exposed to him. Don’t act like I’m out for some sort of vendetta.”

“Aren’t you?” the Doctor asked. “If he can be saved, will you allow it?”

“Only if he can’t hurt anyone else,” Ianto rejoined, his frustration clear. “Maybe you, with your _superior_ Time Lord brain, can’t comprehend what it is he’s doing to people, but…”

“Enough,” the Doctor held up his hand. He sighed and reached out, grasping Ianto’s shoulder and wincing when Ianto flinched. “This isn’t your fault, Ianto. And you’re right. He will need to be stopped, if he is unwilling to go with me to Mnemosyne.”

“I still don’t understand how you plan to stop him, if he won’t agree to go,” Steve spoke up.

“The creature thrives on memory,” the Doctor explained as Ianto slowly turned away and returned to his seat. “But there is such a thing as too much.”

“If Vision can proved me with the juice, I can overload Adam,” Ianto said.

“And what’s to prevent you from collapsing, like you did after Novi Grad?” Clint asked, looking alarmed.

“Ianto and I have been practicing,” Vision replied. “We are both more adept now at channeling power from the stone through Ianto.”

“Are you okay to do this?” Ianto asked Vision. Not a soul in the room doubted that Ianto would go and do it without Vision, if necessary, even if it ended him.

“What you have described,” Vision said, then lowered his eyes apologetically, “what I have seen… This creature must be stopped. No one should suffer as you and your friend did.”

“Thank you,” Ianto said quietly, looking at his shoes as a tear tracked down his cheek before he swiped it away.

“So how do we do this?” Steve asked.

“We go in,” Ianto described the layout of the hub. It helped that Clint, Natasha, and Steve had been there, before. “Clint, here.” Ianto tossed him his watch, which contained the perception filter. “You make your way as high up as you can get and still have a clear view. Natasha, you take a level or two lower than Clint. Steve and Bucky, first level up from the main floor. Some tranquilizer darts wouldn’t go amiss, in case he convinces the others to take his side. If he comes near you, do _not_ let him touch you.”

“They’re not going to like us just coming in, like that,” Steve pointed out.

“We’ll make sure Adam’s not there, and I’ll speak to Jack, first,” Ianto said, looking thoughtful as he absently reached for his smoothie. “You guys disperse while the Doctor distracts the others. I’ll make sure Jack remembers it all, and that will tell me what Adam has done, this time.”

“You know how to help Jack remember?” the Doctor frowned.

Ianto shrugged. “That, I can figure out. And you’ve shown me how to segregate the false memories.”

The Doctor blinked in surprise, then smiled, impressed. “Excellent! Once Jack is himself again, we can help the others, as needed, and then determine how to deal with Adam.”

“You sure you’re all right to do healings, right now?” Steve asked, staring hard at Ianto.

Ianto finished his smoothie and resolutely set the glass down on the coffee table. “Have to be, don’t I?” he gave a lopsided grin that showed more determination than good cheer.

The others exchanged worried glances, and the Doctor straightened his bowtie. 

***

Ianto, Natasha, Clint, Steve, Bucky, and Vision followed the Doctor into the TARDIS. The others were wandering, looking around. They had been in the TARDIS a few days before, but it was still novel. Ianto, who had never had the pleasure, stopped short in the middle of the control room, looking up, his expression rapt. The Doctor turned on his heel and looked around, expectantly.

“Well?” he sort of bounced in place, for a moment.

“What kind of mileage you get?” Clint asked. Natasha smacked his arm, chuckling.

“We’re not in Brooklyn anymore, Dorothy,” Bucky clapped Steve on the shoulder and they sort of leaned into the weirdness together.

“How do you stabilize the extra-dimensional field?” Vision asked.

“Funny you should ask,” the Doctor lit up like it was Christmas morning and the wiggling, puppy-shaped package under the tree had his name on it. “Thing called a chameleon circuit helps to stabilize it. But then a thing happened in the 1963…”

“She sings,” Ianto whispered, still looking up, tears streaming.

The Doctor went still. “She does,” he replied, stepping in front of Ianto. “What is she singing to you?”

“Love. Joy,” Ianto’s voice was full of emotion. Then he gasped. “Hope.”

The Doctor looked up, annoyed. “Could you please dial it down? I know it’s exciting to find someone else who can hear you, but you’re going to swamp him.” He canted his head, then huffed, throwing up his arms. “Fine! What do I know?”

“What’s happening?” Bucky asked. He had stepped up beside Ianto and was watching him, looking for any sign of distress.

“Apparently, the Old Girl has taken a shine to Mr. Jones,” the Doctor replied, striding to the console and rummaging around, looking for something. “Wants to give him,” he paused, then looked back at Ianto. “Oh,” he said, as though finding the final piece of a puzzle that would make the picture make sense.

“Oh?” Steve asked.

“She’s soothing all those tender places that have been bruised by the healings,” the Doctor replied. “She remembers him, see. From the year. Feels badly for what happened.”

“The ship,” Clint said, needing clarification. “Feels bad?”

“She’s alive,” Bucky murmured, also hearing a whisper of a song and feeling the warmth and vitality vibrating her _aliveness_ through the floor beneath his feet and the very air surrounding him.

“Sentient,” Steve added, also sensing her.

“No, no, no!” the Doctor fussed, looking up again after hearing a sound not unlike a purr. “You cannot have them!” The lights gave the slightest flicker, and he huffed. “Yes, they are all quite nice, and I know you miss your ‘Pretty’.” He frowned and looked at Ianto. “Really?” Then he nodded. “Yes, I suppose they are a lot alike, in their loyalty and fierceness.” Then his voice took on a scolding quality. “But you cannot steal them away.”

“Doctor?” Steve was frowning.

“Seems she has a bit of a crush on you three,” the Doctor admitted awkwardly.

“I don’t know about you, Nat, but I feel a little rejected,” Clint quipped, his lips quirking. He was going to have _so much_ fun with this, for a long time to come. And just wait until he told Tony!

Natasha chuckled.

In the next moment, Ianto drew in a deep breath and looked at Bucky and smiled.

It was the most beautiful thing Bucky had ever seen.

The Doctor turned back to the console and found his mobile. Putting it on speaker, he dialed Martha’s number as he started turning dials and flipping switches.

“Doctor? Oh, thank God! Can you come to Cardiff?” Martha’s tone was concerned; from anyone else, that same tone would have sounded frantic.

“We’re on our way now, Martha, but there’s something I need for you to do, before we arrive,” the Doctor replied, calling out to the phone still sitting on the console.

“Wait. You’re on your way? You mean you actually listened to my message?”

“Well,” the Doctor looked a bit guilty. “Not so much. But you know, need to visit, every now and again. But Martha, this is extremely important.” He hesitated before adding, “Nightingale.”

Martha’s voice was immediately calm and sober. “What do you need?”

“Is there a way to get Adam out of the hub?”

“He and John just left, actually. Rift retrieval. Why?”

“Excellent!” he ignored her question, ended the call, and threw a lever. All of a sudden, the floor became… unreliable. Bucky was standing next to Ianto, who despite everything was grinning like a mad thing.

“Drakon?” Bucky looked at him, wide-eyed, as they both grabbed for something to hold onto.

“We’re in a time-machine-slash-space-ship shaped like a telephone box, flying to Cardiff.”

Bucky chuckled. “Well, when you put it like that.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next stop, Cardiff!
> 
> Thanks for reading - let me know what you think.


	63. Chapter 63

When the TARDIS landed, the Doctor stepped out, followed by Vision and Ianto. Jack was running towards them. Taking a quick look around, they saw that Gwen was at her desk, frowning, Mickey was standing beside his desk looking relieved, and Martha was rushing up from the medical bay.

“Doctor! How’s Ianto?” Jack was surprised to see the man himself step from behind Vision. He looked pale and thin and extremely unwell. “What are you doing here?” he blurted.

“Doctor!” Martha came running up. “It’s Donna! Something’s happened. She’s been in some sort of coma for three days, now.”

The Doctor looked at Ianto, who frowned. Then he looked back to Martha. “Can you describe what happened?”

“We were all talking that morning, having coffee and a laugh before starting work, when Donna came in.” She frowned. “Then there was some sort of… _explosion_ of golden light around her head, and she passed out. And she’s been out, ever since.”

“The failsafe,” the Doctor growled, following Martha, who had been leaning back towards the medical bay the entire time she’d been talking.

“Who was standing near her, when it happened?” Ianto turned to Jack.

Jack frowned, as did Mickey and Gwen. “I don’t…” he looked around.

“No one?” Mickey frowned, as well.

“Can you pull it up on CCTV?” Ianto asked. “Might give the Doctor more information.”

Mickey turned to his computer.

“Jack,” Ianto put his hand on Jack’s arm as the older man turned to watch Mickey work. He could feel the others making their way to their places, and Vision drifted towards the middle of the hub, looking around. “Can I speak with you, for a moment?”

“You okay?” Jack turned back to Ianto. “You sure you should be up and around so soon?”

“I’m fine,” Ianto said. “But I think there’s a problem, here.”

“Here?” Jack frowned.

“Do you remember when we lost two days, and we decided we must have Retconned ourselves?”

“Yeah. Never could figure it out.”

Ianto sighed. “The Doctor says that in remembering… properly remembering the Valiant, I’ve had another evolution.”

Jack’s eyebrows rose, but his stomach was heading in the opposite direction.

“I’ve broken through all of the Retcon I’ve ever been given,” he confessed, his voice quiet.

Jack paled. “All of it?”

Ianto nodded and hung his head. “I know I said it before, but I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” Jack said. “That was my fault. Are you okay? I mean, with the remembering?”

Ianto shrugged. “I’ll get there.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jack looked physically pained.

“But that’s not why I’m here,” Ianto asserted, giving himself a shake. “I’m here because of what happened, those two days that we Retconned. Will you…” he hesitated. “Do you trust me, Jack?”

“With every last life I have,” Jack said, his voice quiet and intense. “What do you need?”

“I can… I can help you remember,” Ianto said. “But… only with your permission.”

“You have it.”

Ianto stepped in front of Jack and placed his hands on either side of the older man’s head.

“Jack?” Gwen stood from her desk as Mickey hissed. She redirected to his side, to see that Donna had collapsed after Adam had touched her.

They both closed their eyes as Ianto pressed his forehead to Jack’s and quickly moved past his rather formidable fortress of defenses. Jack gasped at how easily Ianto circumvented them, but held still, enjoying the younger man’s warm touch and comforting presence in his mind. 

Ianto was immediately overwhelmed by regret, and in a low, firm tone, he said, “Jack, you need to let that go. You regret my leaving, but not your actions that led to my decision to go. What’s done is done, but your regret is still impacting me, so I have to ask you to stop, now.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack replied. “But you need to take a closer look, Ianto. I do regret my actions.” He sighed. “I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again. I’m not very good at… relationships, or commitments. But I’d give anything to not have hurt you so badly.”

“Shh,” Ianto whispered as he moved further into Jack’s mind, looking for the hidden memories. 

What he found surprised him. He broke the Retcon on the memories of their first encounter with Adam, and he saw how Adam had first corrupted, and then taken Jack’s memory of his father and brother. Taking a deep breath, he dove into that childhood memory and extracted Adam from it, pulling him out like a tapeworm from its host. Then he smoothed out the edges and placed it in a safe area, where Jack could enjoy the memory, if he chose to look at it.

Once he had freed the memories from Retcon, he identified the false ones Adam had planted and sectioned them away from the rest. Jack would be able to recognize what they were, but he would have no emotional attachment to them, and they would not interfere with his true memories.

Ianto then moved to the more recent memories – those of the last three days. He was relieved to see that Adam had not damaged any long-term memories, so it was a simple matter of sectioning the false ones, again.

When he was done, he carefully stepped out of Jack’s mind and leaned away from him. It took a moment for Jack to open his eyes. It took another few for him to release his hold on Ianto’s wrists. He looked at Ianto, his expression a mixture of horror and rage.

Ianto knew the feeling.

“What he did to you. To Toshiko,” Jack whispered. For the moment, horror was winning. Then his face changed to concern. “You’re bleeding.”

“’s all right. Normal, for healing,” Ianto mumbled as he pulled out a handkerchief and staunched the flow. There wasn’t much. It hadn’t taken a great deal of effort. Apparently organizing memories wasn’t as taxing as healing. Once he’d cleaned his face, he put his handkerchief away.

“We have a plan,” Ianto said, needing to get them back on track. In a low tone, he let Jack know of the Avengers (and Bucky) in the upper levels, and the Doctor’s wish to take Adam to Mnemosyne.

“John might be an issue,” Jack said grimly. At Ianto’s enquiring look, he added, “He’s playing Tosh’s part, this time.”

Ianto winced. “We’ll fix this, Jack.”

“What’s going on, Jack?” Gwen crossed her arms over her chest as they stepped towards Mickey’s workstation.

“It looks like it happened after Adam asked her if she remembered something,” Mickey said. “Which is well weird, because he kept asking, over and over, until she collapsed.” He looked at them, his eyes wide. “We’re all there,” he pointed at their images on the screen, “but I don’t remember that.”

“I don’t either,” Gwen said. She turned to Ianto. “And what are you doing here? What was that all about?” She pointed to where he and Jack had just been standing.

“Gwen, remember the two days we lost, right after you and Rhys went to Paris?” Jack asked.

“Yeah,” she answered, frowning.

“Well, Ianto has remembered what happened, and we have a threat to neutralize. He just helped me to remember,” Jack looked at Ianto, then back to Gwen, realizing how awkward this would be, particularly for Ianto, “and you need to let him help you, as well.”

“I don’t want him mucking around in my brain,” she stepped back, her eyes wide and angry.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Gwen,” Ianto sighed and saw the Doctor returning with Martha. “But it’s either me or the Doctor. One of us can help you to remember, and the other, Mickey.”

“What’s going on?” Mickey asked.

“How is Donna?” Ianto asked the Doctor, almost simultaneously.

“She’ll be all right. The failsafes I put in place protected her. That was the golden cloud, you saw. It shut her down, to protect her mind from further attack.”

“Did he hurt her?” Ianto growled.

“I could see where he made at least three attempts,” the Doctor said, his face grim. “Each progressively more forceful. It would have been uncomfortable, which is why the coma was induced, to protect her from the harm that further assaults would have caused.”

“Bastard,” Ianto growled.

“She’ll be all right,” the Doctor said, his relief obvious.

“We need to take care of this, before they return,” Martha said. Clearly, the Doctor had explained and then helped her, while they were still in the med-bay.

“I don’t want anyone messing with my memories,” Gwen insisted.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Cooper. For once in your life, can you just follow Jack’s orders?” Everyone stared as Ianto lost his temper and finally said what had frustrated him about Gwen, practically from the moment they’d met. “Someone has already been messing with your memories. Or have you already forgotten that you saw what happened to Donna, and yet have no recollection of it?”

Gwen looked only slightly abashed, but she did not move away from him when he stepped forward. As he went through the same process of helping her as he had with Jack, the Doctor took care of Mickey.

Ianto was briefly reminded of his conversation with Matt Murdock, about how healing people made him feel closer to those he healed. As he stepped away from Gwen, he was relieved to find he no longer had to worry about any undue influence from someone he didn’t trust. Healing her had changed nothing.

“Oh, my God,” Gwen’s voice had gone wobbly. “Poor Tosh!”

Jack handed his handkerchief to Ianto, who quietly took care of the small nosebleed that had started again. Thankfully, it and the headache were fairly minor.

“They’re on their way back,” Mickey said, looking grim.

“I’ll talk to him,” Ianto said. “That may catch him back-footed, and hopefully I can convince him to go with the Doctor.”

The others nodded, and Jack turned his attention to Vision. “Captain Jack Harkness. Don’t believe we’ve met,” he said offering his hand with a wide smile.

As Vision took it, the Doctor muttered, “Stop it,” in a chiding tone.

Ianto rolled his eyes, and Jack grinned at the old banter. “I was just saying hello.”

“I don’t mind,” Vision said, confused.

Ianto clapped Vision on the shoulder. “I’ll explain when you’re older.”

In the next moment, the cogwheel door opened, and John Hart stepped through, followed by Adam. John’s posture shifted just enough that Ianto was certain he had clocked at least one of the team, above. Probably Steve, who wasn’t really trying to hide, now that he knew Ianto had told Jack they were there.

“We have visitors,” John plastered a smile on his face, and Adam looked wary. “Doctor! Any word on Eye C…” but then he caught sight of Ianto. “You look like hell, mate.”

“John,” Ianto nodded to Hart, then looked at the man standing beside him. “Adam.” Ianto had a moment of perverse satisfaction at the gobsmacked expression on Adam’s face. He couldn’t resist adding, “Remember me?”

Jack’s eyes snapped to Ianto. He realized it had been years now, since he and Ianto had fought side-by-side. The younger man had always been frighteningly competent, but now he had finally grown into his confidence. Part of that was having all of his abilities consciously intact, but there was something almost bittersweet about seeing how he had come into his own. The fact that he didn’t fear Adam, despite having remembered what Adam had done to him, hard on the heels of remembering what the Master had done, was in itself somewhat miraculous. 

Jack had always been impressed by Ianto’s resilience. Yes, the Welshman was obviously still ill and weak, but he was strong enough to face this creature, clearly knowing exactly what would need to be done, to protect those around him from any further damage.

And he realized that perhaps it wasn’t just resilience, though Ianto had that, in spades. Ianto was facing the creature, despite how sick and weak he must be feeling. Jack had the impression that Ianto would use the last of his strength to banish it, if that became necessary. There was a righteous wrath sparking in his eyes that Jack had not seen, before.

And the additional decorations in the hub were interesting. It was clear that John could see them, as well. Jack could see that Adam was not aware of the tree and dragon, nor was Gwen. He couldn’t tell if the Doctor, Martha, or Mickey saw them. He’d ask, later. In the meantime, he caught John’s eye and with a small gesture beckoned him over.

John casually strode towards Jack. If it had been anyone but Eye Candy, he’d be very annoyed about the tree branch wrapped around him, at the moment. But it was not impeding him. In fact, it felt rather nice. Not that he’d ever admit it. He looked around the hub, marveling at the silvery blue tree that filled the space. Branches wrapped around everyone there. Many reached into the upper levels, and John had clocked at least one person up there. If there was one, there were at least two. John wondered why strangers were hiding in the hub, but Jack seemed sanguine, so he’d hold his concern, for the moment. 

He turned back and smiled at Adam, and was concerned to see his lover seemed less than pleased to see Ianto. Goddess, but he loved that man! Who knew he could ever settle down on one backwater planet? But meeting Adam three years ago was the best thing that had ever happened to him. They’d never looked back. Hell, they were even talking about kids, someday. 

Who could have guessed?

Adam put his hands in his pockets and gave Ianto a smile. “Ianto, good to see you! How are you liking New York? Knocking ‘em _dead_ , I’m sure. Whole new city, lots of pretty girls to chase, eh?”

Ianto knew the memories were false, but they were still too raw not to inspire an icy trickle of shame, at Adam’s words. But his façade was unimpeachable, and he merely lifted a corner of his mouth in a sneer of contempt. “Should’ve been my first clue back then, actually,” he chuckled. “The idea that _I_ would need to call anyone to help me dispose of a body.”

Adam’s eyes shifted to the others. “What’re you on about?” he gave an uncertain laugh. You had to give him credit, he was a good actor, anyway.

Ianto ignored the question. Adam knew precisely what he was talking about. Knew he was on thin ice. “This is the Doctor,” he gestured to the Time Lord. 

“Hello,” the Doctor said amicably. “Do you mind telling me what species you are? Where are you from?”

“What?” Adam looked warily around the hub. Only John seemed confused.

“You could’ve made a fresh start,” Ianto said, his voice hard. “No one would have ever known. But you got greedy. Again."

“Ianto, mate. I know you’ve been sick. Maybe you should get some rest. You’re not making any sense.”

“It’s over, Adam,” Ianto replied. “Jack and Gwen remember, and Martha and Mickey have been healed. And Donna will be fine, no thanks to you. I’m sure John is beginning to catch up, and we’ll help him, once we’ve got you sorted.”

“Yeah, I know how Torchwood ‘sorts’ my kind,” Adam sneered. “No thank you.”

“Actually, Torchwood only eliminates threats. There are whole settlements for non-violent aliens. That’s out of the question for you, now, of course. But the Doctor can take you. There’s a planet…”

“It’s called Mnemosyne,” the Doctor filled in the pause Ianto had deliberately made. “Plenty of memory to feed on, and no temptation to do any harm.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Adam scoffed.

“Where’s the fun in not assaulting people, you mean?” Ianto asked, his anger beginning to brew.

“Feeding you those memories,” Adam gave a sick smile, “that was the best high I’ve ever had. Why would I give that up?”

Ianto blinked. It was the only indication that Adam’s words had struck a nerve. Only Jack and those in the levels above could tell. But then he canted his head. Why was Adam trying to provoke him? Did he hope…

Ah.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the confrontation with Adam begins.
> 
> I know this one tails off abruptly, but the ending of the next chapter dictated this one's length, and it was the best place to pause. Will post the next very soon.
> 
> Hope everyone has a safe and happy holiday!


	64. Chapter 64

Ianto allowed his anger to show. “It’s your only choice.”

“Is it?” Adam asked. “I think I have more options than you might realize,” he smirked. “After all, if I could get sweet little Toshiko to pull a gun on Jack, what do you think I could get _John_ to do?”

“What?” John frowned. “What’s he talking about?” He looked at Jack. “What’s going on?”

“Later,” Jack muttered.

At the mention of Tosh’s name, Ianto strode forward, within Adam’s reach. The Doctor took a half step, but stalled when he realized that Ianto was not actually attacking Adam. Rather, he was letting Adam make his next play.

“There are too many people here, Adam.”

Adam laughed. “I’ve gotten quite good at this, though.” Before anyone (besides Ianto and the Doctor) realized what he was doing, he reached out and clasped Ianto by the shoulder. “ _Remember_?”

If Adam were to describe how he altered a memory, he would say it involved diving into someone’s mind and suggesting how things should have been. Diving into someone’s mind was a delicious experience, like falling into a marshmallow. 

Diving into Ianto’s mind was like running headlong into a brick wall. 

Next thing he knew, he saw a spark of blue and bounced off of… _whatever_ , causing a physical recoil that knocked him on his arse. “What the hell was that?” he cried.

“Now that you’ve got that out of your system,” Ianto shot his cuffs, “how about we get you to Mnemosyne?” He sighed. “C’mon, Adam. A fresh start. Plenty of yummies. Everybody wins.”

“No!” Adam sprang to his feet. “You can’t make me leave!” He turned to John, who was looking lost and scared, but Jack’s hand on his shoulder was holding him steady. “John, help me. They want to take me away!”

“Jack?” John looked to his friend. “I’m sorry…” he reached for his gun, but it wasn’t there. Small blue branches had divested John of every weapon he had, and they were being set on Gwen’s desk, behind them all. The branch already wrapped around John tightened gently, immobilizing him.

Adam’s face took on a wrathful expression, and he snarled as he pulled his own weapon.

“Ianto!” Jack shouted, jumping between Ianto and Adam just as the latter pulled the trigger.

Jack closed his eyes, waiting for his latest death, but then slowly opened first one, and then the other when he heard the bullet bounce off of the grating beneath their feet. He stared in awe at the red wing that as wrapped around him. Clearly, the bullet had bounced off of it.

Looking up, he saw the dragon just as it dipped its head and bit the barrel off of Adam’s gun and spat it into the retention pool at the foot of the tower. The wing pulled Jack back as Ianto and Vision stepped forward.

Ianto looked at the Doctor, who nodded, looking defeated. “I am sorry,” Ianto said. “I did try.”

“I know,” The Doctor nodded again.

“You!” Adam shouted, lunging at Ianto and wrapping his hands around the Welshman’s neck. “You keep ruining everything!”

“You hurt Toshiko,” Ianto replied, his voice calm but fierce.

Adam tried to squeeze, but as he did, he felt… something. He noticed Vision step behind Ianto and place a hand at the back of Ianto’s head. Then he saw Ianto’s eyes swirl with power – a blue and silver light that expanded into Adam’s mind. 

It was _amazing_. 

It felt as though he had tapped into every mind in existence, and he feasted on the memories he found. He fed and fed, unable to stop himself. He couldn’t seem to feed memories into any of those minds, but who needed that, when there was such a feast to be had? 

It was rapture. 

It was bliss. 

It was ecstasy. 

It was… 

It was… 

It…

As the others watched, Adam dissolved into a shimmer of blue and silver mist. The particles swirled around and, one by one, they slowly winked out. Ianto blinked several times, and his eyes returned to normal as Vision removed his hand. He swayed on his feet for a moment, but the Doctor took his elbow, to steady him.

“That was very… gentle, Ianto,” the Doctor said.

“Guess I turned out to be Torchwood’s headsman, after all,” Ianto muttered as he pulled his handkerchief out again, to staunch yet another nosebleed. He knew there would be at least one more.

“There was no other choice,” the Doctor gave Ianto’s elbow a shake. “Even I could see that. You did everything you could, to try to get him to go.” He hesitated before adding, “Thank you, for that.”

Ianto nodded, but gave no reply.

“What just happened?” John asked, his voice small. “Where did he go?”

“John,” Jack sighed. “Adam was a creature that changed our memories, to think he’d been here for longer than he was.”

John shook his head. “He’s been here for years, though.”

“But you haven’t,” Jack pointed out, and John frowned. “You’ve only been here for about a year and a half.”

John frowned again. “But that’s…” he shook his head, confused.

“Here, there’s no point in giving yourself a headache,” Ianto said, walking over to John. He held up a hand to the side of John’s head – close, but not touching. “May I?” he asked quietly.

John gave a shaky nod, and Ianto leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. After a few moments, John seemed more himself. Ianto leaned back slightly as he broke the connection.

“Eye Candy,” John purred, and before Ianto could back away, he grabbed the Welshman by the arms and kissed him, forcefully.

In the next moment, several things happened, all at once.

Bucky jumped from the gantry above and stalked towards the pair, with several Avengers behind him heading in the same direction, at speed. But before anyone took more than a step or two, Ianto had John by the coat and was punching him repeatedly in the head. _Hard_.

Ianto held nothing back, hitting John again and again and again. “Never. Without. My. Permission!” he snarled, punctuating each word with a vicious blow.

“Ianto,” Jack stepped forward, but Bucky beat him to it.

“Drakon,” he said, his voice soft as he wrapped an arm around a still punching Ianto and gently pulled him away. Steve, Clint, Natasha, and Vision stepped in front of Bucky and Ianto, shielding them from John and the Torchwood team as Bucky tried to calm Ianto.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jack shouted at John, surprising the others. “You _know_ the memories he’s just recovered, and you do _that_?”

John was sitting on the floor, his legs sprawled out in front of him, dabbing at his bloody nose with the arm of his coat. “Ah coulded heb ith,” he said wetly, his mouth bleeding as profusely as his broken nose.

“Christ, John,” Jack kicked him in the thigh, for good measure.

Ianto was shaking, almost violently. Bucky had him by his arms, wanting desperately to embrace him, but knowing that to do so would be another violation, right now. So he spoke softly. English would leave them both too exposed, so he chose his words in Russian, knowing that Romanoff would not tease. Not about this. 

Ianto was barely keeping to his feet. His nose was bleeding again, and he was gasping for breath.

“Just breathe, Drakon,” Bucky said, switching back to English. 

The Doctor was beside them, using his sonic. “Martha?” he called out. 

Martha appeared beside them. “What’s happening?” she asked. 

“Something for his blood pressure, and maybe a sedative and painkiller, I think,” the Doctor told her quietly.

“Ianto, I’m going to take your wrist, to check your pulse, all right?” She did not proceed until she received a shaky nod from him. After a moment, she looked up, clearly concerned. “Let’s get you down to the med-bay, okay? Just to check your blood pressure and give you some meds. Won’t take long.”

As she and the Doctor led Ianto away, Natasha subtly held Bucky back. “Best not to give too much away, here,” she said, her voice low. Bucky nodded and joined the others. They were now beginning to mill around, leaving Hart on the floor to sort himself out. His teammates felt badly for him because of Adam’s violations, but he hadn’t exactly helped his cause with the most poorly timed stolen kiss in the history of ever.

With the exception of Vision and Bucky, everyone was fairly well acquainted with one another, so they chatted good-naturedly, trying not to be too concerned about Ianto. Vision looked at the subetheric resonator with fascination, asking Mickey the occasional question. 

Bucky tried to hide his alarm when, after ten minutes or so, Gwen sidled up to him with one too many buttons on her blouse undone, showing far more of her bosom than he would care to see.

Not that Bucky didn’t admire an ample bosom, on occasion. But this particular one was attached to someone who had hurt his drakon, and that he could not abide.

“You’re new,” she smiled, and he couldn’t stop staring at the gap in her teeth. “I’m Gwen.”

“Bucky,” he gritted, giving Clint a death glare as the archer smirked at his plight. Not for the first time, his eyes drifted towards the med-bay, where Harkness had been allowed to follow, but Bucky had not.

“Oh! You’re Bucky Barnes? I saw the story on the news about you. You’re _so_ _heroic_ ,” she gushed.

“Pretty sure that’s not true,” he replied, cringing at her enthusiasm.

“Oh, but you are,” she widened her eyes in what she must have thought was an appealing manner. 

It wasn’t.

She reached out and placed a hand on his flesh forearm, and it was all he could do, not to cringe at her touch. “It must be so difficult, remembering what Hydra did,” she said, her voice soft and sympathetic.

“If you really think so, I wonder that you’d bring it up,” Natasha snarked as she walked by. “Pretty insensitive there, Cooper.”

Bucky tried not to smirk at Romanoff, but then she just kept walking, and he wanted to curse her for leaving him with this presumptuous Welshwoman. It struck him, in a small corner of his mind, that it wasn’t the accent that was so attractive, to him. It was a particular voice, speaking in that accent…

Gwen jolted him out of his brief escape with a huff. Then she rallied, giving Bucky another smile. “How about a tour of the hub?” she offered, leaning closer and giving that ridiculous buggy-eyed expression again.

“No thanks,” Bucky answered, his voice flat and definitely carrying more Soldier than Barnes in its tone. He liberated his arm and looked towards the med-bay, once more.

Gwen followed his gaze and her eyes narrowed as the penny dropped. Her next smile was full of spite. “As a friend, though,” she said, lowering her voice in a confiding tone and leaning closer, her hand back, giving his forearm a squeeze and making his skin crawl, “I would warn you not to trust the teaboy. I mean, did you see what he just did? He just… _disintegrated_ poor Adam. Jack always had a soft spot for him, but he’s dangerous. Almost got _me_ killed by that cyberwoman girlfriend of his.”

Something in Bucky’s expression caused Steve to start moving in their direction.

Gwen reached out and knocked against his prosthetic arm with a knuckle. “And I bet he _hates_ this,” she added. “He’d never say, of course, but it probably reminds him of Lisa, all half-converted and covered in metal.” She gave a shudder and looked triumphant as the color drained from Bucky’s face.

“You know, it always astounded me, how you claimed to be the ‘heart’ of Torchwood,” came a voice that was almost too mild. Gwen jumped and turned to see Ianto, his eyes glittering with anger. Standing behind him were a frowning Jack, a disapproving Doctor, and an extremely annoyed Martha.

Gwen schooled her features, giving a look of wide-eyed innocence that had Ianto snorting derisively.

Bucky raised his eyes, but then dropped them again, his shame overwhelming him.

“And yet,” Ianto stalked forward as he continued to speak, “here you are, abusing a disabled veteran, doing your best to make him feel self-conscious about his lost limb and prosthetic.” He crowded into her space, towering over her and snarling, “What the _fuck_ is your problem, Gwen? You _won_! I am _gone_ , out of Jack’s life. What more do you think you have to prove?”

“That’s not…” Gwen sputtered, but Ianto spoke over her.

“Enough!” he thundered, brusquely stepping around her and walking up to Bucky. Taking the older man’s left hand, he let their fingers tangle together. _Look at me, Winter._ When Bucky looked up, Ianto smiled gently at him. 

“You couldn’t be more wrong, Gwen. Vibranium is an amazing metal. It’s nothing like cybersteel. It’s warm and soft.” He brought Bucky’s hand up and gave it a lingering kiss, still holding the older man’s gaze. “It doesn’t feel like flesh, but it’s not hard and cold, and it has _never_ reminded me of the Cybermen, or how they took my Lisa.”

Confident he had succeeded in providing some much-needed reassurance, Ianto finally dragged his eyes away from Bucky’s, and anger glittered in them as he looked at Gwen. “That was cruel, Gwen. And unworthy. I think you owe both of us an apology.”

“Gwen?” Jack crossed his arms over his chest and gave her an expectant look.

Her face flushed, and she looked from Ianto to Bucky. “I’m sorry,” she said, and she did sound a bit contrite. “That was unkind of me, and I’m sorry.”

Bucky turned to look at Ianto. _Is that really the best she can do?_

Ianto looked at his feet and let out a snort, nodding. Hopefully Gwen didn’t see the amusement, but would take the nod as acceptance of her apology. _Sadly, yes. Take it and run, is my advice._

Bucky looked back at Gwen and gave her a slight nod, and she glared from him to Ianto, clearly unimpressed with their lukewarm reception to her heartfelt apology.

“ ** _Self-righteous, whoring little twat!_** ”

Ianto’s entire body jolted and his head came up. He dropped Bucky’s hand and backed away, looking around, his eyes wide. “Who said that?”

“Drakon?”

“ ** _Thinks she can have any man, long as she gets her tits out and makes cow eyes at ‘em._** ”

Ianto was still looking around, turning a slow circle, trying to find where the voice was coming from.

“Ianto?” Steve walked slowly towards him. “You all right?”

“ ** _Complete bollocks, if you ask me. Hart acts like he’d be up for a three-way, but he wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot dick. And Mickey’s completely immune. And pretty sure she and Ianto never looked at one another, unless it was to be all weird and jealous over Jack._** ”

Ianto stopped turning as he zeroed in on where the voice was coming from. A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled out of him and he said, “And what does that say about you, then?” looking straight at the source of the voice.

“Ianto?” Jack was frowning at him, now.

“ ** _Wait. Shit! Can you hear me?_** ”

“Vision, can you come here for a moment?” Ianto beckoned, not taking his eyes off of that one spot.

Ianto took Vision’s hand and placed it on the back of his head, then reached out, sending a branch from his tree. He wrapped it around the source of the voice and drew a good deal of power from the stone to help it form an image.

Jack looked thunderstruck.

“ _OWEN?!_ ”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhh - I'm so excited about this chapter! 
> 
> Surprise!
> 
> Haha
> 
> Please let me know what you think!!!


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